


The Ombre of Brume

by irene_yongie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark, Fluff, Gang leader Jaehyun, Gangs, Gen, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung & Lee Taeyong Are Best Friends, Lee Jeno-centric, M/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, Slow Burn, Villain Jaehyun, Violence, trigger warnings in the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 76,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irene_yongie/pseuds/irene_yongie
Summary: "Ombresaren’t good people.For centuries, they forged a dark and bloody legend at the cutting edges of blades —so terrifying it’s easier to imagine they’re only stories. Invisible spies, instinctive murderers, and invincible fighters. They operate in the murk of dirty alleys, in the velvet of brothels, in the tawdriness of luxury houses, or in the solemnity of politics’ offices. Shadows never followed, only leaving bodies piling up behind them."Or; how Jeno, torn between good and evil, tries to take down the all-powerful gang infesting his city, and falls in love in the process.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Jeno
Comments: 14
Kudos: 53





	1. Part I — Nightfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Those are going to be long notes so to summarize before I get into details to spare you some time:
> 
> \- This fic is already completed, posting will occur every Monday until the fifth and final part.  
> \- Not every character incarnated by idols is written in a good light here, _but_ their characterizations are in no way my actual opinions on the actual people! I think Jaehyun is adorable, but also that he's fucking hot as a villain gang leader, so here goes.  
> \- If you're here for the plot and some cool action, you'll be served, and if you're here for some sweet slow-burn nohyuck, you'll be served as well :D  
> \- TW // Violence, Blood, Physical Fights, Drugs, Swearing, Torture, Physical abuse, Emotional abuse, Burnings, Explosions, Death, Car accident (mentioned), Gore, Panic Attack, Past toxic relationship (mentioned). If you're very sensitive to any of these themes, I don't recommend this fic to you, although they're not all graphicly depicted, and some are only mentioned.
> 
> Anyway, after a year and a half of screaming about it on the TL, working on it by random spikes of inspiration, months of forgetting it exists, and long sessions of rewriting as the universe had expended, I'm finally done with this 75k long fic. My basis to create this world was France --because it was easy, I live here-- but make it end of 19th century Amsterdam vibes with modern technology, so the lore has a French basis in terms of names, other than that it stops there. Other countries are inspired by other places in our world, but they're not really explored... at least not in this particular fic ;)  
> I don't think Ombre is perfect, but it's my baby and I grew up as a writer with it. Not gonna lie, I'm emotional finally releasing it into the wild, but also very excited. I hope it will find a place in your heart --at least a tiny one-- as it took a huge one in mine. 
> 
> Have a good reading!

Swiftly, Jeno foils the laws of gravity. He jumps off the window, shattering the glass in his way into billions of pieces. They shine like diamonds, drawing the lines of his figure in the dark night. He flies over the void for a slow second before gripping the gutter of the opposite wall to hold himself, his free hand tapping the inside of his jacket to make sure the papers he stole are still there. Behind him, the sounds of running that wouldn’t reach his ears if it wasn’t for his supernatural hearing, hurries him. The Dragonnards want his skin, and they’re not going to let him escape that easily.

Going down is harder than climbing. It demands more attention, better instincts, and a great balance. It’s not a problem for Jeno. Using the gutter, he climbs down smoothly. His muscles obey his command without any resistance, and he doesn’t tremble once. It’s easy because, first, he’s used to it, second, he’s an _Ombre_ , acrobatics are in his genes —among other things.

The deafening sound of a gunshot suddenly tears the night.

A bullet only misses Jeno thanks to his prodigious reflexes. He launches himself to the right, avoiding the death landing at his left, cracking the bricks. Not slowing down, he looks up. At the window he just broke, a Dragonnard is aiming his gun at him, while another is shouting insults —Jeno stole his gun. He has to speed up. He only gets a few seconds to find a way to survive, trapped between two narrow walls, meters and meters away from the ground, and with a gun pointed at him. Though, to be honest, he doesn’t need that much time.

Before the Dragonnard can even load his gun, Jeno jumps. Pressing his shin and forearm to the wall, he launches himself on the opposite one. Without losing any time or momentum, he replicates the same movement to land on the original wall, just a few meters lower. And he repeats. Again, again, and again, the bullets miss him. Quickly ricocheting, Jeno disappears from the Dragonnards’ sight.

Landing on the ground, he runs until a black streamlined car pulls over next to him. He gets in, the motor roaring as soon as he sits down to race into the city, driving them away from the old train station the Dragon had chosen to be his den.

“It was dangerous,” Doyoung’s calm voice resonates in the car, his eyes fixed on the road.

“What do you mean?” Jeno asks in return because yeah, infiltrating the headquarters of the most powerful gang in Brume was, indeed, dangerous, but that wasn’t breaking news, and they had a plan.

“How you got down the building,” Doyoung explains. “You may be exceptionally resistant, but one wasted second, and you’d break every single bone of yours."

“Yeah, but the gun the dude was holding was also pretty deadly.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “You had one too, and don’t pretend like it would take you more than one shot to get him.”

“I had the chance to escape without killing a man, I simply took it.”

Doyoung looks tense, clearly not satisfied by Jeno’s answer. It doesn’t show in the way his black eyes stare at the road, or in how he abruptly cuts the corners, or how he’s driving way over the speed limit, but Jeno can feel it.

“I’d rather see a Dragonnard’s dead body on the streets than yours. Sometimes, you can’t be kind and fair, especially in what you’re doing.”

Jeno looks at Doyoung attentively. He’s the same as usual, dressed in his typical black suit over a white shirt, his hair neatly styled, and his eyes as indecipherable as always, darker than the ashes of a volcano. His movements are sharp, elegant and relaxed. Nothing in his behavior, or in his expressions, betray the slightest hint of emotion.

Doyoung isn’t a warm man. He’s cold, over-controlling, and even though he’s almost never rude, he puts a great distance between him and other people. But Jeno is perceptive, and over the seven years he’s lived with him, he picked up his little manners and their meanings. 

That’s why he can perceive the light clench of his jaws. _He’s afraid_ , Jeno realizes, bewildered he’s managed to scare him, and maybe to have angered him too —but that one’s less surprising. 

“I can’t betray the reason I’m doing all of this, and danger has always been included in the ‘destroying a gang’ package,” Jeno says. “You trained me for this.”

“I didn’t train you for anything. You had powers and you needed help controlling them. I don’t care about what you do with them, it’s entirely your choice.”

Jeno has to admit he’s right. Doyoung has never pushed him in any direction, or tried to force any moral compass on him. He chose to become some sort of a superhero himself, not that he wanted the glory. He’d listened to the burning fire in his heart telling him he had to make things right in Brume. Ending corruption, destroying the gang, and drying up the _Tenebres_ , a drug intoxicating the city, were things he had the power to accomplish. He couldn’t just sit there and watch Brume fall, not when inside. In his path, Doyoung only supports him.

That’s why, even if being a _Spectre_ , meaning he can turn invisible at his will, Doyoung wasn’t the one breaking into the gang’s headquarters.

“Anyway,” Doyoung goes on, “no one was supposed to even notice you. What happened?”

Silence falls in the car. Jeno doesn’t know how to answer this question to the diligent man. How can he tell him that, for a short glimpse, when he found himself in the Jung’s office, also known as the Dragon since that particular evening of July, the _Ombre_ in Jeno felt compelled to stay? The darkness ambient in the gang’s headquarters didn’t look that repulsive or terrifying. He’d shrugged off the creepy feeling quickly, but his hesitation had allowed a Dragonnard to see him.

“I don’t know, bad luck, I guess,” He answers sheepishly, his chest heavy with shame.

“You’re an _Ombre_ , it’s in your nature to be imperceptible.”

“I’ll be more careful.”

“Where were you seen?”

“Outside Jung’s office.”

“Did they see your face?”

“They didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Doyoung nods and parks the car. They’ve arrived.

At the top of an imposing building surrounded by the skyscrapers of the Scintillant, district where the greatest fortunes took up residence —sort of a golden dormitory— the apartment is way too big for only Doyoung, Jeno, and Taeyong to live in.

The door opens to reveal a huge living room that has three comfortable velvet sofas. The door of the kitchen is ajar, letting a warm scent of food reach them. Then, a wooden staircase at the rear of the living room traverses the different floors. At the bottom, the training rooms, Doyoung’s locked office, and the IT room, and the weaponry. At the top, the bedrooms and bathrooms —one for each— and Taeyong’s workshops and studios. 

The first time Jeno had met Taeyong wasn’t in this apartment, but in Doyoung’s former one. Jeno had broken in because he saw a white cat in the opened window, right next to a bouquet of lilies. Knowing that lilies were deadly plants for cats, he’d climbed the gutter to put them in the trash, and, busy with petting the cat, he didn’t notice the sound of keys unlocking the door.

Facing a man, his suit stained with blood, pointing a gun at him, gave Jeno his first heart attack ever. That’s how he met Doyoung. He explained to him that he wasn’t there to steal anything but to save the cat, and in exchange, well, first, Doyoung didn’t shoot him, and second, he told him he was a lawyer who defended people that went against the gangs. That’s why he carried a gun and that’s why he had blood on him —he’d gotten into an ambush.

Brume was a dangerous city, Jeno understood that perfectly, so he didn’t doubt Doyoung was telling the truth. Hell, his parents had abandoned him in an orphanage when he was six, leaving him without any money or protection. The orphanage offered him shelter, but never safety, so he had to fend for himself quickly, facing the cruelty of the city.

And, Jeno had his second heart attack when the adorable cat turned in front of him into the most handsome and angelic man he’d ever seen. It turned out the cat had never really been in danger, for it was a _Shapeshifter_. At thirteen, Jeno had never encountered one before Taeyong. He had also been a lawyer, like Doyoung.

Leaving the apartment was is dangerous in his case, so he spends his days in a whirl of naps and sudden urge of creativity. Apparently, he got in trouble with the wrong people, ending up with a bounty on his head. The Dragon was looking for him, and still is.

Taeyong is waiting for them, resting his chin on his hand, playing with his snowy hair, sitting at the table where three steamy bowls infuse the room with a delicious smell. Even if he spends most of his time in his cat shape, laying around and cuddling with Jeno or Doyoung, he makes his pleasure to feed them with a ‘balanced diet, adapted to your respective lifestyles’.

“Right on time!” He grins as they sit with him.

“You know about Doyoung’s legendary punctuality.”

“Tell me about it.” He replies cheekily.

It’s a habit of them. Doyoung chides Taeyong for being too lazy, and chronically late, to what the _Shapeshifter_ answers that ‘on all levels, including physical most of the time, I am a cat, and by consequence, have the sleep schedule of one’, then, Doyoung rolls his eyes, and Jeno smiles at their banter.

“So, how did the operation go?” Taeyong asks, as both Jeno and Doyoung are shoving enormous forks of food in their mouths.

Doyoung doesn’t bother trying to answer, and takes the time to chew, but Jeno does, ending up choking and coughing.

“I haven’t seen you two limping,” Taeyong answers his own question while Doyoung pours a glass of water and hands it to Jeno, “you aren’t covered with blood, and Jeno doesn’t have a scratch. I guess it went well!”

“Yes, it all worked out. Jeno was seen, though, but the Dragonnards will assume he was a rival. In my opinion, he took too many risks, but as you mentioned, he doesn’t have a scratch.”

Taeyong shoots a disapproving look at Jeno. If Doyoung doesn’t protest against Jeno risking his life —it’s his, he does what he wants with it— the _Shapeshifter is far less forgiving of his recklessness. He gives him a contrite smile in return._

__

__

“And did you get the documents?” Taeyong asks, a new glint lighting up in his wide, shiny eyes.

“Yes!” Jeno stands up to take the papers out of the inner pocket of his jacket to give them to Taeyong, who scans them before a slight smirk appears on his face.

“That’s useless bullshit.”

Indeed, it's only different coded variations of the Tenebres recipes, the infamous drug intoxicating the whole world in its enchanting deceitfulness. The black liquid extracted from the country’s characteristic flowers, the _Flores Tenebris_ , is the basis of many powerful uses. Making drugs, yes, but also creating electricity. Landres, the country of which Brume is the capital, made its whole fortune thanks to these flowers, as it only grows in its grounds. The factories and powerhouses at the south of the city, outside its walls, are continuously working, making money that goes inside the walls, where the streets are clean and the cops don't kill the citizens, and the white smoke coming out the chimneys adds to the permanent mist of Brume.

“It is useless bullshit,” Doyoung confirms, his satisfaction hearable. “We found what _Jung_ wanted us to find. Now, he’s perfectly content with himself, and won’t stop gushing about his success and his flourishing business.”

“That’d be tragic for him if the place had been bugged not later than tonight.” Jeno winks, getting Taeyong giggling.

“Congratulations, kid! I knew you’d nail it!”

“We shouldn’t celebrate too early, though,” Doyoung says before Taeyong gets more excited. “We don’t know if Lieutenant Moon will accept the recording as a piece of evidence.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Doie, Moon will thank you two to the point of exhaustion. He’s wanted to arrest the Dragonnards for almost a decade now.”

Doyoung shrugs, clearly unconvinced. “You and I both know how the legal system is doing in this country. We’re already lucky a cop like the Lieutenant exists in the first place, but we’ll also be needing a prosecutor and a judge like him. They don’t run the streets.” He pauses before turning to Jeno. “Of course, we can still do it the other way.”

Living with former lawyers, Jeno had soon enough learned that legality isn’t a synonym of morality. Doyoung works with efficiency, and rules he can use, not with charity or good intentions. His offer is simple: not waiting for the police’s avail, and sending Jung and his seconds to grave instead of jail. And as much as Taeyong is kind, Jeno knows he approves more of this plan than Jeno’s. It seems there’s deep hatred in his heart, craving to see the Dragon and his gang reduced to ashes. Jeno understands, he’d have the same if he was locked up in a golden prison for seven years because of Jung.

“No. We’re getting them down right, or we’re not at all.”

‘It takes a monster to kill a monster’, the popular saying reminds Jeno constantly that he can't let himself become what he fights. It comes from a myth about one the seven gods. Death, if Jeno recalls correctly.

He knows it’s not meant to be taken literally, being more about the dangers of outside of the walls —the good people of inside the walls shall not slip in the dangerous addictions of drugs, gambling and blood, for they won’t be able to eradicate their vices without losing themselves first— but in his case, it is. He has to leave murder and needlessly spilled blood to the gang. He’s a good guy, not a simple murderous _Ombre_. And, as cruel and crooked Brume is, he wants to believe the city’s capable of getting better.

Doyoung nods and doesn’t add anything, accepting Jeno’s wish.

“Is it recording already?” Taeyong asks.

“Yes, everything’s directly sent to the computers. It started registering the moment Jeno activated them.” Doyoung softens his sharp tone before adding to Jeno, “You did well tonight. Infiltrating their headquarters is a big deal but, not only that, you stole documents from Jung and bugged the place.”

The compliment almost makes Jeno blush. Given his faux-pas, he wasn’t expecting it at all. Taeyong’s eyes shine with happiness while Doyoung eats his food silently.

///

Brume is cold, plunged in the usual fog and submerged by the heavy smell of the ocean following the course of the Nacre river. The gray cobblestones are wet from the mizzle, and the puddles reflect the threatening gray clouds in the sky. Inside the walls, thousands of people walk, hurry, bump into one another before leaving without apologizing. Counting the outside, it makes millions of them.

The walls used to be a big deal seven years ago. They separated the old rich town in its all-mighty power from the other part of Brume that had developed in the filth of poverty —and unlawfulness, as the politicians said. If the outside was where the _Flores Tenebres_ were turned into power in the factories, far enough from the good people so the foul-smelling smoke wouldn’t reach their delicate noses, it also was, and still is, the lair of all the gangs.

The politicians told that the goal of the walls, built with the first pilgrims, was to protect the city from attacks. Maybe it was true, at first, but as the factories and powerhouses raised outside their protection, and the whole of Landres was undoubtedly ruled by Brume, it had become clear that the locking of the gates every night was to keep the gang violence away from the ‘good people’ rather than potential invaders.

It was a different time, Doyoung had told him. When the gangs were many but not that powerful, when the drug hadn’t invaded inside the walls yet, and when Jung was only starting to raise his, now omnipotent, gang, without the help of the Rechte. A lot of things happened seven years ago, the year marking a permanent before and after in Brume’s —and more largely the country’s— history. On that one night of July, the walls had been unlocked by Jung, and as incredible as it sounds, a dragon had risen in the red sky and burned down a building, screeching before suddenly disappearing.

Even though the events were unclear, it probably was a diversion to lead the cops there so Jung could take control of the walls and open the gates during the night. It worked, allowing his gang to find a shelter before closing the doors, trapping the police pursuing them outside. There was more to this legendary night, but like every other legends, it remains blurry, confusing, and too great to be true.

The drug had already infected the inside of the walls, the gates no longer belonged to the legally rich, and the numerous gangs were united under the command of the one who took his powerful name from this night. Jung, the Dragon. The outside and the inside, before enemies, were now working alongside in the name of profit. The hypocrisy of the business men had cracked.

Jeno melts into the crowd, dressed from head to toes in black. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his beloved leather jacket. Only he can hear the slight clinking of the blades hidden in one of the numerous inner pockets. The businessmen don’t notice him as he glides next to them, getting from the Scintillant to the Grande Horloge district, a place of nice cafés and stores where high-middle class can meddle with the real upper one. He’s no _Spectre_ to turn invisible, but as Doyoung said himself, an _Ombre_ knows how to disappear and become imperceptible.

Jeno had understood he was an _Ombre_ when he was about eleven years old, an early age for powers to reveal themselves. Of course, it depends on their natures, and on the individual, but they usually appear during puberty. Not that Jeno can really compare himself to others, though. People with powers can shout it from the rooftops, like Jung does, but the majority keep them secret. Plus, _Ombres_ aren’t exactly supposed to be real. They’re an urban legend —like the bogeyman— stories of assassins you tell to scare the kids, half-humans, half-demons.

Alone, and trapped at the orphanage, Jeno was afraid of himself. He could run a little faster than the others, lift heavier stuff and climb on the roof like it was nothing. But if it was just for that, the worst thing that could have happened would be him becoming an arrogant, bragging, kid. No, it wasn’t just only that. There was something inside him, something burning a hole in his chest, harmless, but not for long. A terrifying presence, that eventually emerged once in Jeno’s sole outburst of rage.

Tom had been insufferable all the evening after Jeno came back from the streets. The orphanage was outside the walls and it was always hard to find a shop to steal food from —even harder to find one where he wouldn’t be recognized, if not impossible. The boy was pestering Jeno about his day, asking where he stole, before bragging he knew better places, and shoplifted better, before copiously insulting him. He was used to it, so he didn’t respond as the presence growled in him.

But this night was different, and he can’t pinpoint why, or even remember what caused his rage, hell, he can’t even remember anything but Tom on the ground, his face bloody and Jeno’s own hand black and clawed, dripping red. The darkness contrasted strongly with the tender skin of an eleven years old’s arm. He’d learned later he had broken not only Tom’s nose, but also his jaw.

After that, he was so terrified he let Mrs. Pimper chain him in a bed at night, forbid him to stay at the orphanage during the day, and to take his dinner with the other kids. He pushed down the presence as deep as he could and swore to himself he would play by the rules. No violence, no rage, only control. Once was enough.

Two years later, when Doyoung took him under his wing a few months after meeting him —basically kidnapping him with his consent, not that it was the first time a kid would be missing from Mrs. Pimper’s watch— Jeno thought Doyoung had freed him from a nightmare. He was lost, he was scared, he didn’t understand what he was. Doyoung had explained he was an _Ombre_ and that he had to channel his overwhelming power into physical training.

Jeno doesn’t like to admit it to himself, but the nightmare wasn’t just over yet. He’d trained, and trained, and trained, but the shadow never left and only made him one of the deadliest and most dangerous individuals in Brume. The fear never vanished, only getting stronger. Because _Ombres_ aren’t good people.

For centuries, they forged a dark and bloody legend at the cutting edges of blades —so terrifying it’s easier to imagine they’re only stories. Invisible spies, instinctive murderers, and invincible fighters. They operate in the murk of dirty alleys, in the velvet of brothels, in the tawdriness of luxury houses, or in the solemnity of politics’ offices. Shadows never followed, only leaving bodies piling up behind them.

The city fears them, without knowing if they’re real. The mere doubt is enough. Some rare peeps say that they exist, that they’re even grouped in a secret organization dominating the world in shadows —Jeno knows it’s bullshit.

Yet, despite the general agreement of their inexistence, the paranoia always creeps in. A punch too strong, a jump too high, a run too quick, or a slash too precise, and panic takes over. Most of the time, it’s just a normal person. It’s against the nature of _Ombres_ to make themselves known, they play in the shadows before leaving without any track.

Jeno doesn’t like to see himself like that. He can admit his strength, balance, and senses are supernatural, but never that the _Ombre_ growling could turn him into something he’s not —a spy, a liar, an assassin. After years of training coupled with school at home, Jeno finally went into the field and quickly learned that even if being an _Ombre_ scared him, it was also bloody useful.

In only a few months, he jailed dozens and dozens of Dragonnards and other gang members. They were small fry, of course, but it was only the beginning, a real training, something Doyoung could never teach him. Jeno thinks to himself that he’s already lucky Doyoung’s so knowledgeable about fighting. ‘Fun hobby,’ he’d said, ‘and extremely useful’.

Without noticing him, the passersby walk around Jeno. Even if there’s no sun, their golden watches shine. Most of them are gawking at the window displays of shops, absorbed in the expensive clothes, extravagant and classy pieces of furniture, and literally anything that can have a brand printed on it. The shops are usually huge, they take the whole space of the two to four stories buildings. The bricks are beige, grey, red or khaki, contrasting with the darkness of the cobblestones, and allowing you to guess that once upon a time the city was great, magical. Now, it’s dusty, and the promises of better lives are worn-out by greed and selfishness.

Jeno keeps moving, because he still knows that Brume can get better, and because his favorite coffee shop is now in sight. He’s not really a big fan of coffee, actually, and he drinks it with a shitton of suger and milk, but in two months, he’s gotten used to settling in the red velvet chair every Thursday afternoon around five PM. It’s always a nice time. The coffee shop smells good, and the people are smiley but not too chatty. Jeno’s excited, he’s almost arrived.

And there, he sees him. A ray of sunshine. The young man’s stuck between the gloomy clouds and the dark wooden bar, crowded by people who can’t take their eyes off of him, believing they can scrutinize his every moment.

His fingers are agile and swift, sometimes almost invisible. He moves graciously. Cards twirl around him by the rhythm of magic tricks, Jeno could swear they’re flying. His messy hair is of a light brown, a little purplish: the color of the sun kissed by the waves and the pink lights of a sunset, and they flutter around his tanned forehead, his skin bright among the dullness.

The magician plays with the customers. His eyes shine, maybe because of the gold glitter parsimoniously applied, or maybe because of the sparkles of magic inside them. He seems to emerge right from a dream or a hallucination, too beautiful to be real. _Like an illusion_ , Jeno thinks.

He gets into the coffee shop, his attention already entirely focused on the magic tricks. His order is already on the way. Miyoung, the barista, has it memorized by now. He pays for it distractedly.

Having seen the show dozens of times, he should be used to the tricks, yet he’s still as mesmerized as he was the first time. Maybe it’s more about the magician than it is about the tricks. And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t come for the coffee.

Jeno plops down into his usual armchair. Struck by the magician’s beauty, he doesn’t notice that today, the one next to his isn’t empty. The magician snaps and throws a bright golden sparkle in the air. It bursts. Glitter falls on the marveled customers before vanishing. Behind someone’s ear, the magician finds a card.

“How?” Jeno mutters for himself.

“You know, you should talk to him.”

Jeno jolts away.

The voice that rose next to him is soft, yet it’s surprised Jeno so much he’s put his hand to his heart. Having startled from his fascination, Jeno lays his eyes on the man who spoke.

He’s objectively very beautiful. Eccentric, but beautiful. His expensive clothes tell Jeno he’s rich, but not like the rich of Brume. Here, they’re more sober. They wouldn't dare the pink sunglasses clashing with bright orange hair like the man is pulling it off. He smiles at Jeno, kind, but a bit condescending.

“You should talk to him,” he repeats, probably in reaction to Jeno’s wide eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“To the magician. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” The man sweeps air with his hand. Embarrassed, Jeno blushes. The man emanates a strong aura, his charisma overflowing and intimidating. Jeno wonders how he didn’t notice him earlier. “You’ve been eyeing him like you’d propose to him on the spot.”

Jeno gulps hardly and rubs his neck. He figures that there’s no point in lying to him. “Is it that obvious?”

The man chuckles softly. “I don’t know about other people, but _I_ can see it very clearly.”

“Have you been here often?”

“Often enough to notice.”

Jeno stays silent for a bit before whispering, “Fuck.”

He makes the man frankly laugh. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m just an old man who likes to get his nose into people’s business. You could say I’m a bit of a cupid.”

“You don’t look that old.”

“I have a killing anti-aging cream.”

“Can I ask your name?” Jeno finally says. He’s been wanting to know since the beginning of their conversation. The man looks somehow familiar.

“I’m Jimin, Park Jimin.” His name doesn’t ring any bells. “And you are?”

“Lee Jeno.”

Jimin stretches his hand for Jeno to shake over the small table where the tea is growing cold.

“Delighted to meet you.” Jeno takes his hand at the same time a scent of roses comes to him. There’s definitely something magical about Jimin.

“Me too.”

“So now that you’ve tried to cloud the issue, I repeat: you should talk to him.”

At the simple mention of the magician, Jeno’s cheeks turn crimson again. “I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because! It’s just that… Fuck. I don’t know, I just can’t.”

It’s a lie. He knows why he can’t. Isolating himself has always been the best choice considering how dangerous he could be, there’s a reason he got educated in the apartment and didn’t go to school. Plus, he’s really shy.

“I call bullshit.”

“I have a dangerous job,” Jeno explains sheepishly.

Jimin rolls his eyes when suddenly the magician takes a pause in his show.

The magician looks over the coffee shop, and his beautiful voice sings.

“For the next trick, who wants to be my partner?”

Before Jeno can even understand that Jimin’s moving, the man darts his hand up. His natural magnetism gets him the attention of the entire coffee shop, way more than what he needs to trumpet, “My friend here would love to!”

Jeno hides his face in his hands but it’s too late, the magician’s already noticed him and Miyoung is giving him an encouraging look from the bar, with what’s most probably his drink next to her.

“So, leather boy! Come here, don’t be shy,” the magician calls for him.

Ah yes, his leather jacket. In the idea of getting unremarked once again, he didn’t think he’d be embarrassed to wear it in a fancy coffee shop. _Fuck_. Jeno lowers his hand and finds the guts to meet his eyes. Enraptured, like he’s enchanted, Jeno finds himself getting up and joining him, but not without throwing a glare at Jimin first.

The magician is even more beautiful from up close. Jeno hopes he’s not blushing anymore. There’s something about his eyes that compels Jeno so strongly that he can’t really register what the magician is saying. He is talking, though. More than that, he’s making a show, twirling around Jeno and playing with his body. With light touches, he highlights the tip of his fingers, his elbow, his neck, his waist, before getting back to the other arm. Jeno finds his arms graciously positioned in the air, without the slightest idea of what’s going to happen next.

“... and in the next second, our lovely leather boy will disappear in the realm of the dead.”

“Wait, what?!”

Jeno snaps his head to look at the magician standing behind him, honestly, scared. The magician lays an unimpressed look on him, and his only answer is his playful smirk.

He snaps. A rain of golden glitter falls on and around Jeno, almost covering his view. He hears the public gasps and the magician’s slight giggles, probably enjoying the dramatic pause. He doesn’t understand why, though, he’s still in the coffee shop and nothing’s changed. The magician places himself next to him and starts his show again. Jeno looks over the coffee shop, confused. Even Jimin looks surprised, having arched a distinguished eyebrow. The magician, for a second, turns to Jeno and winks. Jeno relaxes.

The magician says something about getting the leather boy back alive, and, suddenly, the glitter spread on the floor rises. The magician spins his hand in a dramatic gesture above Jeno, the sparkles following his movement in graceful spirals. The public gasps once again —apparently Jeno has re-appeared— before a thunder of applause crowns the magician. He’s radiant, beaming, as bright as the sun.

"Thank you! Thank you, everyone!" Some people throw money, and he collects it gladly. "This was the last one, thank you all again! It was my pleasure!"

Jeno glances at his table, tempted to get back, but Jimin raises his cup to him, a conniving smile on his lips meaning he better not come back yet. Not without having tried to talk to the magician, at least.

Well, there’s no harm in talking to him, right?

“So, leather boy, are you just going to stand there? I know I’m amazing, but my show isn’t that flabbergasting.”

Or maybe he doesn’t even have to try. Distractedly gathering his things and leaning on the counter of the bar, the magician stares at Jeno as Miyoung slides his drink forward. That’s probably when Jeno is supposed to answer, but he’s lost his words.

“I mean…” He begins, not really knowing where he was going. “I’m not impressed that easily, you know.”

“Really?” The magician arches a mocking eyebrow, clearly not convinced.

Jeno nods vehemently. “Yeah. You’d have to show me more.”

“That was smoother than what I expected, but also, you’ve been watching me here for like two months, so…”

 _Oh, fuck._ Honest to the seven gods, Jeno would slam his head against the counter if he wasn’t already ridiculous enough. 

“I... have nothing to say for myself. I’m very sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the magician brushes off Jeno’s embarrassment, or at least attemptsto. “I’ve been wondering if you’d come up to me at all. Not gonna lie, I started making bets with myself.”

Somehow, the magician’s joke gets Jeno a bit more comfortable as it makes him even more ashamed of himself.

“Oh, really? I’m sorry to have disappointed you, actually.”

“You didn’t, I was already starting to think I should plan a trick to get your ass to participate. Lucky me, you did it almost by yourself.”

“Maybe I should have waited then, would’ve gotten me that special trick.”

“Maybe you should have, maybe not. I like it like that, you disappearing in a puff of gold.”

The playful light in the magician’s eyes is more mesmerizing, Jeno thinks. “How did you even do that?”

The magician winks. “A magician never tells his secret.”

“And will you tell me your name?”

Surprisingly, the magician pauses, as if he’s weighing pros and cons. Jeno’s mouth runs dry. He’s been too presumptuous. 

“Haechan.”

Before Jeno can even react, _Haechan_ runs away from the coffee shop, leaving with one last look, one last smirk, and one very puzzled boy behind.

There’s something truly magical about him. Something so precious Haechan can’t afford to leave it vulnerable. Something Jeno wants to unveil. It’s dumb that a simple gut feeling tells Jeno this stranger’s important and that he’s worth being fascinated about. It makes sense, somehow, how fast Haechan just slipped through his fingers. Jeno just needs to discover why he did it.

Turning back to his table, his almost-cold drink in hand, he finds that Jimin’s also left. Jeno shrugs it off. The peculiar man probably had other arrows to shoot. 

///

Jeno gets back home walking on the roofs. At the top of Brume, he feels free. He loves observing the city evolving under him, how it moves so fast, how people knock together with quarrels, chatting glances, how the streetlights play the traffic. Outside or inside the walls, the city never stops. Jeno likes the simplicity of these moments, the fluidity with which his body moves, the rush of climbing, the feeling of finding himself in another world, like another dimension opens to him.

He’s alone and here, he doesn’t have to mind if he’s right or wrong, or to worry if the _Ombre_ will take over him some day. Morals don’t have their say when you’re alone. Striding along the roofs, jumping above the gaps, he doesn’t have to mind how people act or react. He doesn’t have to play a role and doesn’t have to hide the dark legend pulsating in his blood. Back there, in the streets, among people, a constant fear of losing control escorts him.

It’s the only place he can let the _Ombre_ roam free. He’s different when he’s in the sky. Since he was eleven, he never saw his flesh turning into a blurry darkness again, but he still feels that, in these moments, the _Ombre_ takes over, running on his side. It comes out when he fights too, helping him aim, giving him strength and speed, controlling his instincts but never clouding his consciousness, never for more than a second.

But today, his mind is somewhere else, wandering in the fresh memories of sparkles and gold. Saying he’s enchanted is an understatement. He knew how the magician looked —if there’s one thing he knows, it’s this— but talking to him, _interacting_ with him and knowing his name, feels like a dream.

The spots Haechan touched are burning. A shiver runs through his spine. He wonders how it would feel to run his hand through his hair, to trace the lines of his agile fingers, to make him laugh and to see his cute smile again, even if it’s a smirk mocking him kindly. What does his laugh sound like? Not the performative one he uses to effectively charm the customers, but the real one. Jeno wonders if he can make him laugh.

Jeno keeps thinking about him, over and over again, a mix of lightness, tenderness, and confusion in his heart. Why did the magician make himself so elusive when they both know he’ll be there next week, and so will Jeno? He wanted Jeno to talk to him, right? He said it himself. Jeno hopes he didn’t fuck up and that the magician would like to see him again. It’s unlikely, taking in consideration how much Jeno’s made a fool of himself, but he still hopes. Haechan did say he was planning a trick for him, right? Doyoung would say he’s a fool for being so giddy and Taeyong would wiggle his eyebrows out of excitement. They don’t need to know.

He doesn’t realize he’s home until he goes over his own roof. He climbs down, chuckling at himself. At his window, he looks for his keys in the inner pocket of his jacket, expecting to find them next to his wallet. He does grasp the keys, but he doesn’t sense the wallet. Weird. He palpates the other pockets and his pants —just to be sure— but it’s nowhere to be found. He couldn’t have lost it. That’s impossible, he’s way too careful and cautious, Doyoung didn’t raise him like that. He’s also sure he took it because in it lies the lockpicks Doyoung gave him, and he had to pay for this coffee somehow.

He checks against the inner pocket, just to be sure, and there, he senses something. Something like plastered paper. Realization hits him. The magician, a master of tricks with expert hands who came close to him, who touched him and distracted him, and who left hastily, picked his pocket. Jeno brings out the card. An ace of spades. This explains why Haechan left so fast but not why he still stayed to talk to him, or why he gave him his name —if it’s his real name. Out of frustration, he bangs his head against the window before going down to the front door, ringing the bell for Taeyong to let him in.

Fuck, Jeno wants to bring a thief on dates. Doyoung would be so disappointed.

///

The courthouse is way too imposing and magnificent for representing a rotten and fossilized justice system. The huge white statues, women holding sceptres, scales and other symbols with their eyes blinded, representing the countries ideals in all their pride don’t ring true. The building, like a nest, shelters lawyers and judges and court clerks, almost all of them are corrupted, whether it’s by the Dragon or the rich businessmen. They’re vain rats whose stoutness would almost be concerning if it weren’t for the comfort of their wealthy lives.

Jeno and Doyoung have an appointment with some magistrates today, honest ones Lieutenant Moon had unearthed through his career. Jeno’s nervous. Doyoung looks like he belongs here, his suit impeccable, his posture right and elegant and his eyes confidently looking forward. He was a lawyer after all, he knows everything about this environment and so he’s able to tell if the magistrates they’re meeting today are legit or not. Jeno breathes in and out, trying to calm his nerves. In his hand, an envelope containing a few pieces of evidence against Jung.

After Jeno’s chat with Haechan, the following days had been calm. Jeno, Taeyong and Doyoung had listened to the records of the Dragonnards’ headquarter and wrote down anything potentially incriminating Jung. They had to have it all written on script for the information to be held against him during a trial alongside the records —no wonder why the justice’s so slow. 

It’s only the beginning. They’re making contacts with people willing to participate in the Dragon’s fall but the path will be dangerous and hazardous even with Jeno’s powers and smartness combined with Doyoung’s lethal effectiveness and Taeyong’s prodigious adaptability. The meeting will only be about trying to convince the magistrates they’re strong enough to get them and that they’re taking minimum risks by already showing receipts of their work. Still, they need more proof against the Dragon’s seconds.

Lieutenant Moon is waiting for them outside the room. His features are outrageously perfect for a police officer and he probably could have been a model if he’d been taller. He had the ardent eyes of a fighter, a scar cuts his lips vertically and his black hair is kept in order by a sharp undercut. He’s a man of determination and it shows, dedicated to achieve his goal: a safe city.

Jeno heard about him when he infiltrated the bars of ill-famed quarters, a lot of people were pissed at him, spat his name and swore to kill him, even years after he left outside the walls.

The same story is always epic, and always different, people whisper about the time he fought against the gangs even before the Dragon came into life. He’d have fought against gang violences and _Tenebres_ alongside with Yuta Nakamoto before being promoted in the 1st precinct —most prestigious one inside the walls— for his heroic behavior. And even there, as his job changed from arresting criminals to being a rich’s bodyguard, he’d never stopped fighting. He didn’t care about the gangs’ threats and now he doesn’t care about the gangrened system. Meeting with Jeno and Doyoung is probably the light of hope he’s waited for in his 1st precinct, far far away from the troubles. After 10 years, he’s finally coming close to his goal. Jeno admires him.

“Lieutenant Moon,” Doyoung greets as he faces the officer. “Good morning.” 

If Doyoung had shown himself uncharastically nice, Jeno’s even more surprised when he looks at Lieutenant Moon to find the officer somehow tensed around them.

“Kim Doyoung,” Moon replicates. Doyoung extends his hand and Moon takes it. They share a brief look Jeno can’t decipher. If Doyoung seems like he respects Moon, Jeno senses a vehemence he can’t explain coming from Moon. It's weird, Jeno expects Doyoung to always be the annoyed one.

Yet Moon’s eyes soften as he takes the hand Jeno offers him. “Lee Jeno, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“The pleasure’s mine. Thanks for agreeing to meet us.”

“It’s only my duty. Now I have to warn you, the people here are already risking their lives. You need to be convincing or they’ll chicken out and we can say goodbye to our chances of arresting Jung. We only have one shot. If you lose them, you’ll lose the only people capable of throwing the gang in jail.”

A lump falls in Jeno’s throat. If he fucks up now, so early in his plan, Jung will walk free as long as he lives. It’s a huge risk the Lieutenant takes for him, ten years worth of waiting falls on his shoulders. The envelope is heavy in his hand. He nods at the officer in return.

“I’m convinced we'll bring Jung and his Dragonnards down. We have all the abilities necessary.”

“Good.” Moon looks again at Doyoung. “Kim, I don’t need to remind you that they still remember you. Don’t talk if you don’t have to.”

Jeno stops himself from widening his eyes. How the hell Doyoung hasn’t broken Moon’s kneecaps yet? Doyoung doesn’t answer Moon and lets him open the door.

“What does he mean?” Jeno whispers hurriedly before they get in the room.

“I won over these people in a few sensitive cases.” Doyoung chuckles slightly.

Jeno doesn’t have the time to dwell as he faces six people crowding a rather tiny office —at least compared to the majestic size of the courthouse. Jeno tries to remember that if they didn’t have enough material already, Doyoung would have never allowed the meeting. But seven years had passed since he’d retired, maybe things had changed. 

After an awkward moment of introducing Jeno to the people here, two judges, two lawyers and one prosecutor when it was obvious that they’d rather have ignored Doyoung if they weren’t intimidated by him —while this one couldn’t apparently shake the light smirk off his face while greeting each by their names— they finally get into the heart of the subject.

“I have here information incriminating Jung of several crimes, drug possession, dealing, complicity of murder and many other minor infractions. I believe that within the next few days we can record and encrypt more obvious and irrevocable proofs of his culpability.”

“We’re going to need more than just records.” Mrs. Ackerman, a judge, says coldly.

“How can we be sure that he’s the one speaking?” A woman, Mrs. Printemps if Jeno recalls correctly, adds.

“There’s a lot of ways to manipulate voices nowadays.” Another man points out, the prosecutor named André Yaeger.

“And do you have any _legal_ plan to get other pieces of evidence?” Mrs. Ackerman asks with visible disdain.

Jeno pays it no mind and answers calmly. “Recording someone, even without their consent, is legal and can be held as an incriminating proof. And even if it’s not enough on its own to send Jung to jail, it _is_ enough to ask for a warrant and look for proofs where they are —hidden in his den.”

Mrs. Printemps looks at the Lieutenant, asking for a confirmation he provides with a nod.

“Officer, will you be willing to conduct this operation?” the other judge, Mrs. Cameur, queries. 

“Of course, I wouldn’t be there today if not,” he replies to her, but is looking at each one of the people here by turns.

“Does the Captain know about it?”

“The Captain is an old man.”

“Be careful Moon, that almost looks like insubordination.”

“We all know that he’s taking retirement in less than a year. My chair is already heaten.”

Weirdly, the magistrates seem satisfied with it, even if Msr. Ackerman is biting her nails. The judge sighs. It’s a well-known fact Moon is the most brilliant officer of his generation, if not in the whole town.

“Well, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

Jeno hands him the envelope and the five other magistrates agglutinate around him to read the scripts. Only the sound of pages turning and regular soft grunts break the silence. Jeno looks at Doyoung who reassures him with a nod. He’s doing well. 

“There’s nothing incriminating Jung’s seconds.” Yaeger says after having skimmed through the documents. All the other magistrates are done too and are waiting for Jeno to explain himself.

Before Jeno can open his mouth, the Lieutenant speaks up. “Jung is a very secretive person. His greed commands him and tells him to keep his riches to himself. We know he keeps all his communications with each second separate and that he fired up jealousy between the three of them to keep them distant from each other’s business.”

“That’s the problem exactly.” The man who hasn’t talked yet —Lawyer Frangeois— snaps, glaring at Jeno. It’s true: it’s a problem. If Jeno only gets the Dragon down, another leader will raise —probably one of the seconds— but with the seconds gone too, the secrets Jung’s built the gang on fly away and the house of cards collapses. Brume would be free. “Except for their names and legends, the town ignores everything about them. Excuse me, Lieutenant, I’m not doubting your abilities nor your hard-work but we know nothing about this kid you’re bringing to us! He might be incompetent at best, or Jung’s spy at worst!”

“Easy,” Doyoung rumbles, his eyes appearing suddenly darker. Jeno ignores him and holds Mr. Frangeois’s stare.

“Kim Hyuna, master of tricks and cards, snide like a fox. She manages the casinos and play-houses, her office being in the Esnar. She spends half of her time planning swindles, getting families into debts and getting the city under the Dragon’s heel.” Jeno states without stuttering. His voice is loud and clear and he hopes that he’s getting his point across, he’s not just some kid. He knows what he’s talking about. “Hui, or Lee Hwitaek, in charge of the assassins, spies and murderers. It’s horrifying, really, the amount of people ready to put money on the table to end a life. His quarters are hidden in the old prison. Dawn, or Kim Hyojong, a powerful Crystallizor capable of manipulating anyone’s emotions like a god. He runs the brothels and strip-clubs with an iron fist in the Red Quartz brothel. He also takes care of the corruption, but you’d know about this one, right? Together, they’ve formed Triple H for many years now. So if you’d actually walk past the walls and listen to what the people there are talking about instead of watching Jung rule the city in your comfy chair, then you’d be more than aware they’re not just names and stories.”

Even though he’s visibly trying to find something to argue back, Mr. Frangeois is rendered speechless. Jeno enjoys his little victory.

“And what are your motivations Mr. Lee?” Mrs. Ackerman stares at Jeno from the desk like her gray eyes are trying to read his soul. “Attacking Jung is almost a suicide, why would someone do that? Like my colleague, I trust Lieutenant Moon’s judgement, but I can’t help but wonder why someone as wealthy as you would bother getting out of their way and risk his life without benefiting from it in any sort.”

“Do you remember the explosion a month ago?”

“Wasn’t it this minor gang’s headquarter?” Mr. Yaeger sounds like he vaguely recalls. “The Velvets?”

“I heard it was due to a gas leak,” Mrs. Printemps mumbles. Jeno snickers to that.

“I was there and I can’t tell you, it didn’t smell like gas, but like sulfur.”

Jeno didn’t state him earlier, but finally, Jung Jaehyun, alias the Dragon. He personally deals with the drug cartel, the gang’s biggest source of money, being the only tied to the Rechte, a picky and very mystic supplier of the purest drugs in Rheingein. Jung provides him the Flores Tenebres, andthe Rechte transforms them.

But more than being as his surname qualifies him, a greedy jealous powerful dragon, Jung is a _Soufre_. Capable of blowing up anything he touches if given the time to with his bare hands, he resists every fire. He’s built his way up burning his opponents and bothering friends. The Dragon of July only strengthened his legend. 

Jeno was close when the explosion thundered in the whole city, deafening. Perched on a roof, he had the best sight of the disaster. He’d sensed the wave of hot air hitting his skin before turning away to see the fire and black smoke inflate. He heard the remaining huge bricks collapse, tasted the ashes in his mouth and the stench of sulfur intoxicated him.

It happened in broad daylight, the Dragon not even hiding himself. He shouldn't have, it was the showcase of his power and an open threat to everyone and anyone. Jung Jaehyun, Brume’s most famous and most powerful _Soufre_. Jung, the Dragon who destroyed the headquarters of the Velvets, a minor gang, in front of the city’s eye. Tricked by Hyuna, they owed Jung money, refused to pay, and, worse still, they had even tried to overtake him.

The building exploded and went into flames with dozens of people inside. It must have taken hours and hours of concentration and an _Illusionist_ to conceal from the Velvets’ view, to accomplish this exploit. The four-story building, that used to be an offending display of luxury in such a poor neighbourhood, fell to the ground. Its white, surprisingly almost stainless, walls killed innocent passersby on their way down. The columns broke in ugly cracking sounds. The large panes shattered, tracing red furrows.

“I could see and hear everything, you know? I listened to the screams of panic and pain, and the frantic footsteps echoing against the streets. I watched the flames carbonizing the bodies and people trying to avoid the fire’s bites by jumping off the windows. A hundred of both criminals and innocents were massacred while I was powerless.” Jeno pauses, looking at the magistrates reaction. All of them stay silent. Mrs. Ackerman had a slight satisfied smile drawn on her lips. “That’s when I truly realized that the city will never be safe as long as the Dragon rules.”

The explosion didn’t only destroy the gang's headquarters, but ravaged all the buildings near and set a fire to the neighborhood the firefighter only lazily tried to put out. Jeno went back home this day, unable to apprehend that what he’d seen was real and not some sort of nightmare. His movements were automatic as if the explosion had numbed his brain.

He realized he looked like a ghost when he saw the fear on Taeyong’s face as he entered the living-room. Doyoung rushed toward him, cupping his face and his hands as he asked, his voice trembling and his eyes looking frantically for any injury, if he was okay. Soon enough, Taeyong wrapped them up in his comforting embrace. As he relaxed in Taeyong’s arms, he could hear the television playing in the background. The news was disgusting.

Before the explosion, Dawn had visibly paid a visit to some politicians and police officers. Contrary to the common belief, considering his perfect face and angelic manners, he didn’t play on attraction, nor seduction. No, first he puts a wad of bills when he’s in a good mood and if it doesn’t work, he uses the most powerful lever —fear. He terrorizes the city, not only because of how strong his power is, but because he knows how to manipulate hearts as well as to use implacable arguments and bullets. He’s inescapable.

“As Mrs. Printemps mentioned it, they blamed the explosion on a gas leak, so politics didn’t mourn or show respect to the family, but they were scandalized by the incivility the people had shown by allowing this. They despised the poor, brushed off their death by a simple number, and then went off about gang’s violence and how the city is better off without the gang. Hearing that, I wanted to throw up. So who’s here to blame? Who can allow themselves to be distrustful here? Because you’re the people who were supposed to incriminate him a long time ago, if only, you are his accomplices.”

Mr. Frangeois is so red he might blow up any second, while the other judge —Mrs. Goffret— and Mr. Yaeger look wary.

“How dare you blame us?!” Mr. Frangeois bursts out, his fist slams against the desk startling the other magistrates. “Our hands are tied here! We have a family too and people to protect! What do you even have to cherish? You’re nothing but a reckless teenager trying to lecture—”

“Frangeois.” Mrs. Ackerman interrupts him, placing her hand on his wrist. If the gesture could have been interpreted as affectionate, her eyes are nothing but ice cold. Mr. Frangeois deflates completely as Mrs. Ackerman puts her attention back on Jeno before turning to Moon. “Lieutenant, can you vouch for him?”

“I believe in him, yes. He’s shown himself very capable over the last few months, helping me arrest many minor Dragonnards. Also, successfully breaking into Jung’s office _and_ bugging it is an exploit on itself. I know he can do much more in the future. He has my trust.”

A huff of pride dazes Jeno. Not letting go over his head, he swallows it quickly, fighting against the urge to grin.

“And what about Kim Doyoung?” Yaeger surprises Jeno. Unlike the other magistrates, Yaeger dares to stare shamelessly at Doyoung, challenging him. “If he raised Jeno, there’s no way we can trust the kid.”

“Come on, Yaeger, it’s been seven years. I didn’t know lawyers could be so resentful.” Doyoung doesn’t sound angry at all, amused at best.

“If what happened seven years ago wasn’t so mysterious, it wouldn’t be so difficult to let go.”

“You lost, I won, I retired. It’s really that simple.” Yaeger looks like he’s going to hiss at Doyoung. “Listen, we’re here talking about Jung, not me or not what happened seven years ago. Jeno wants to bring him down and I’m here to help him, that’s all.”

“It’s a nice kid you’ve found yourself.” Jeno can’t tell if Yanger is being sarcastic, genuine or if he’s mocking Doyoung.

“A great one.”

“Moon?” Yaeger asks. “What about that?”

“For seven years Doyoung disappeared suspiciously, but he didn’t make any trouble. I know he defended shady people but it was nothing but his job, and you do the same.”

Yaeger frowns his eyebrows. Jeno hopes he’s letting himself get convinced.

“I’m in.” Mrs. Ackerman’s voice rises, automatically relaxing Jeno’s tensed shoulders with relief. “Moon, I’ve always told you I was waiting for an opportunity, and I can recognise one when I see it.”

“Me too.” Mrs. Printemps adds. That’s good, a judge and lawyer, but if they don’t get the prosecutor to bring the case in court, they’re screwed.

Before Jeno can say anything to convince Mr. Yaeger, or for this one to speak, Frangeois snaps —again.

“This is nonsense! Your honor, you can’t get lured into this trap!”

“I’m sorry, but I’m staying out of this too, this is too dangerous.” Mrs. Cameur sighs before getting out of the room. Jeno moves aside and opens the door for her. One judge is enough. Her hand on the handle, she wishes them good luck and repeats it was her pleasure for having met such a brave young man.

“Finally! I’m not the only one that sees that this whole plan is just madness.”

“Mr. Frangeois, if you don’t want to be there just leave.” Mrs. Ackerman retorts. “No one here wants to listen to your bawling.”

Visibly offended, Mr. Frangeois tries to muster the courage of speaking up some insults, but this is his superior he’s talking too and someone who can decide if he wins his cases or not. Jeno figures that whatever profanities he wants to yell at the judge, he’s going to be the target instead. At the corner of his eye, Jeno glances at Doyoung tensing up.

“Fine! Get your heads blown up or whatever! The Dragon probably has a list with our names anyway!”

With that, Mr. Frangeois storms out the room. He’d tried to hit Jeno with his shoulder bypassing him, but Jeno saw it coming and dismissed it gracefully by opening the door.

“Goodbye Mr. Frangeois.”

The lawyer mumbles something but Jeno shuts the door on him. 

“He has a point though,” Yaeger says. “I don’t agree with him on all the lines, far from it, but Jung knows whom he pays and whom he pays not. We’re in danger.”

Jeno has nothing to argue back, he agrees. The same events obligated Taeyong, who tried to drag the Dragon onto a trial, to hide in an apartment for years, trying to save his life.

“I’d love to put you under security, but it would be nothing but suspicious.” Lieutenant Moon answers. “Although I’ll recommend you some precautions to take after this meeting.”

“This operation relies on secrecy, speed and efficiency.” Jeno completes. “This will be our only meeting, all the information will be transferred through the Lieutenant. Jung doesn’t know who I am, he’s only heard about me, but there’s always a risk.”

“I’m going to ask you to wait more before we start the legal procedure.” Mrs. Ackerman demands. “With what you brought today, I can easily provide a warrant to look into his office, but as you said this is about efficiency; let’s wait until we get elements against the seconds and we’ll raid the three different quarters with the headquarter at the same time. Our only chance is to take the Dragon by surprise.”

Jeno nods to her. His nerves are killing him and he doesn’t want to get too hopeful, but he thinks he caught a glimpse of a smile on her face.

“Prosecutor Yaeger,” Jeno calls, “what do you think of that?”

Mr. Yaeger takes a deep breath and rubs his temples. “I think that this is all madness. But I also think Brume needs to catch a rest. I’ll help you.”

This time, Jeno doesn’t suppress his grin. They have one judge, one lawyer and one prosecutor, it’s not a lot, but it’s just what they need. “Thank you, thank you all.”

“I will keep in touch with you for the details and those security advices.” Moon walks and stretches his hand that the magistrates shake by turn. “Thank you for hearing us and taking part in this operation. We’re making Brume a huge favor.”

They all bid their goodbyes and this time, Jeno can be sure Mrs. Ackerman grants him a warm smile, and so does Mr. Yaeger, even if warier. Mrs. Printemps looks more scared than the others but still shakes Jeno’s hand firmly. The magistrates left are still cold toward Doyoung —especially Mr. Yaeger. Jeno finds them lucky the former lawyer is only amused by the situation. They leave the room and part in different ways. 

As Jeno gets in the car next to Doyoung, he releases the deep sigh he knew he was holding.

“We did it.”

“You did it,” Doyoung corrects.

It’s another step to clean up Brume. Jeno’s hopeful.

///

When the next Thursday rolls on, to say Jeno is disappointed to see the magician isn’t having his show in the coffee shop is the understatement of the year. He comes in, and instead of the usual sparkles of gold and clear laughter, he’s only welcomed by the warm smell of coffee. He looks at all the customers, trying to spot the familiar doe eyes in the crowd, or even that Jimin dude —maybe he could have known where Haechan was— but nothing.

He still orders his regular and stays for about an hour, glad to be away from Doyoung and Taeyong. He loves them and living with them, but even if they’re not his parents and have no control over his life —Doyoung had made sure it was clear between the two that he wasn’t responsible for the younger— sometimes, it still feels like they are.

Jeno had a hard time convincing them that they should all have breaks during the day. The three of them, he’d underlined, looking at Doyoung. The old man needed to rest too. So he’s more than happy to step outside the apartment. He has two hours for himself and had hoped to spend some time with the magician. Not today though, apparently.

A sort of routine enters Jeno's life. Every day at five PM, he comes by the coffee-shop, he stays for about an hour waiting for the magician, only to leave with disappointment. The night welcomes him in the streets along with cold, Jeno puts on his gloves and wanders in Brume. Often, he ends up on the roofs, his safe place in the city, and admires the town buzzing with energy even in the dark. He doesn’t have the time to explore more outside the walls so he stays around the neighbourhood.

Usually, he likes to simply wander on the roofs, but now, with an ace of spades in his pocket, more often than not he checks the passersby to see if a dazzling magician isn’t hiding among them in the gloomy streets. He scrutinizes the faces blended in the crowd and listens to the distant footsteps blurred with the noises of the city, he ends up frustrated. Even with his superhuman senses, the magician is nowhere to be found.

Yet Jeno still finds peace and enjoyment in the beauty of Brume. It’s not easily accessible, that’s probably why people are so pissed all the time, but when Jeno’s perched up, it lays obvious.

His favorite moment of the day is the sunset —which he spends in a coffee-shop apparently nowadays— when the sun paints the fog in beautiful colors before the night sets and the thousands and thousands of streetlights turn on, like fireflies.

He likes the day too. Distinguishing between the fog, the big buildings made of white, gray, red, garance, emerald or black brick, their shapes traced by the lights coming through the numerous tiny windows. 

And he guesses that even if the cold darkness scares him, the night carries its own charm. He has to admit that the city looks like the mirror of the constellations up there, in the velvet black sky. With the rain beating the uneven cobblestones regularly pierced with potholes, wide puddles emerge on the ground. They reflect the colorful glimmers of the signs, the silver or gold of streetlights, or the red and blue of a police car spurting in town. When a car runs in a puddle, uncaring of the people nearby; a million of drops spring like diamonds.

The lights shine brighter in the dark. 

What Jeno doesn’t like is the feeling of belonging here. The _Ombre_ does, not him, he clarifies to himself constantly. He doesn’t like that he finds the air more fresh and breathable, or that he sees perfectly, like in broad daylight, or even that a part of him takes delight in being invisible. The huff of power is unbearable.

///

After almost ten days, Jeno just gives in and asks Miyoung why Haechan doesn’t come anymore.

She smiles knowingly and Jeno feels himself blushing. “Why? Having a crush, Jeno?”

“I’ve been told it’s the most obvious crush ever so don’t pretend like you don’t know already.” She laughs, confirming his statement. He curses under his breath. “I must look so desperate right now.”

“No!” Miyoung places a comforting hand on his wrist before getting back to her preparation. “I mean, yeah, kinda. But don’t worry, it’s cute.”

“Is it though?”

“Yeah! What would be life without a tender teenage crush?”

“You know I’m twenty, right?”

“Young adult crush if you prefer, but the feeling is the same.”

Jeno sighs deeply, not because he minds Miyoung calling him a teenager —because it’s true he is still really young— but because he’s making a fool out of himself. Again.

“So, to answer your question, you don’t have to worry that you scared him away, he told me he suddenly got a lot of work. He’ll come back pretty soon.”

“Oh. Okay. Do you know what’s his job?”

“No idea,” she shrugs. “Here, your order.”

///

Jeno comes home with more questions, but his train of thought is interrupted by Taeyong rolling with his chair to greet him.

“Come with me!” he orders before Jeno can even greet him, visibly excited. Rolling on his chair, he makes sure Jeno is following him with a glance.

In the office, the air is stuffy and heated by the different computers and screens —all of them turned on. There’s rest of food and papers scattered on Taeyong’s side of the desk, as well as cat’s fur on his chair, while Doyoung’s one is neatly ordered, and Jeno’s one in the middle is a mix of them both, even though Doyoung had cleaned the crumbs of cookies.

“Something’s up?” he asks.

Doyoung turns to him, a slight smirk crowns his face. “We got them.”

Jeno grins. After almost two weeks of listening to Jung and Dragonnards talking, they’ve finally caught a few evidences on Hyuna.

From Triple H, Hui had been the easiest to catch. He came himself to Jung’s office to discuss some points about the training of the future Dragonnards. Dawn’s activities were mentioned with his name, but Hyuna remained uncatchable. Jeno had turned bored of listening to Jung, as deep and captivating his voice was. The tense atmosphere in the office didn’t help lifting Jeno’s mood either. He’d noticed Doyoung and Taeyong gnashing their teeth every time the Dragon spoke up. 

“Can I see?” Jeno questions Taeyong, seeing that the _Shapeshifter_ is mirroring his big smile.

“Of course!” He answers promptly. “Doyoung has the papers!”

Doyoung gives him the scripts where the recent dialogues are printed. Relief blooms in Jeno’s chest as he reads the proofs that Hyuna is involved in fraud, scams and many more crimes. The magistrates didn’t make a mistake when they put their trust in his plan. 

“Did you tell Moon already?”

“No, we were waiting for you!”

“Okay. Good.”

Before Jeno can reach for his phone, Taeyong stands up and pulls him into a tight hug. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Taeyong says, his head in the crook of Jeno’s neck. Jeno rubs his back like he does when Taeyong is in his cat shape.

“Technically, I did nothing here,” he chuckles. “You were the ones catching the last strands.”

“Shut up and accept the praise,” Doyoung says from his chair.

“Yeah, listen to the hag,” Taeyong adds.

“Do I have to remind you that you’re older than me?”

“Not in spirit. I’m young, wild, and free, and you’re all serious like you’re already forty.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “Then you’re nothing but a brat.” Taeyong laughs and detaches himself from Jeno to plop lazily on his chair. His smile doesn’t leave his face.

“Anyway,” Doyoung picks up again, “Jeno I’m going to ask you to check on the smuggler.”

Jeno quirks an eyebrow. “The smuggler?” He knows who Doyoung is talking about, but his demand surprises him. “Do you think we need proof against him too?”

“No, no. But if Jung realizes we’re after him, we better keep track of his asset.”

Jeno nods in agreement, still taken aback.

///

Having to watch the smuggler means Jeno’s routine is all shaken up. The docks are across the town to the north, giving him way more space to look for Haechan. After all, the magician still has his wallet. As Jeno almost bumps into a street light because he’d thought he’d spotted the magician —it was, in fact, a very old lady with a similar coat— he shakes his head.

He wonders what’s so special about the magician for him to be so infatuated already, but then how can he even answer that? Maybe he should just give up on him? He should be used to the inner nagging questions his brain asks him after weeks of crushing, except he’s not. Why does the magician keep appearing in his dreams? Why does it look like he’s at every corner? Why does it seem like he’s right here, bumping on some woman, scattering the content of her bag on the ground?

Wait…

Stupefied, he stops in his tracks. Right across the streets, in the cold morning with the sun barely showing, Haechan did just bump into a woman wearing a large coat of faux-fur who didn’t see him coming, checking the hour and her top-of-range watch. She’s about to bend down but Haechan’s already reached for her things. Kneeling, he gives her back her lipstick before collecting the coins and putting them back into her wallet, apologizing profusely. Jealousy pricks Jeno as their hands brush when Haechan gives her her wallet back. The woman trills thanks before leaving. Jeno catches a glimpse of her wrist and as his eyes quickly dart to Haechan, he glances a silver flash in the sleeve of the magician. The woman walks away, her expensive watch no longer shining on her wrist. Jeno laughs and shakes his head lightly. _Incorrigible_ , he tries to disapprove.

Haechan smirks, satisfied, before turning away. It only takes Jeno a few strides to cross the street to abolish the distance between them —he’s lucky they’re going in the same direction. Before Haechan notices him, he grabs his wrist as gently as he can because he can’t bring himself to harm the magician, even slightly, and even if this one stole the lockpicks in his wallet.

The magician spins around, surprise, and even fear, painted on his face, before his expression softens in nervousness as he seems to recognize Jeno. From up-close, Jeno finds him even more beautiful than he did in the coffee-shop. 

“Leather boy!” Haechan greets before Jeno can even bring words to his brain. 

Jeno lets go of his wrist, the mouth dry. Haechan starts to walk again, but not like he’s running away, his gaze tied to Jeno, somehow inviting him to follow him. Jeno moves and they walk alongside.

“I’m sorry I caught you by the wrist like that, but I think you have something that's mine.” Jeno’s unable to distract himself from Haechan. This one glances at him, a playful smirk not leaving his lips, if it’s not even growing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he singsongs ingenuously.

“Come on,” Jeno seems to come back to his senses. “I don’t care about the wallet, I’d just like my lockpicks back.”

Haechan quirks an eyebrow. “You just want your lockpicks back?”

“Yeah, they have a sentimental value.”

It’s true, Doyoung gave it to him the first day he went to catch a criminal on his own. It was a filthy pimp and Jeno had managed to get him to surrender with only breaking his cheekbone.

“Lock picks? A sentimental value?”

“I have a weird family,” Jeno explains in a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah, I found those strange in your wallet.” Haechan notes absentmindedly, as if he didn’t just admit he stole the wallet. He turns to Jeno, staring at him shamelessly before looking back ahead of him. Jeno finds his palms sweating. “Certainly didn’t expect that, you don’t look like the kind of person to break into houses.”

“What do you mean?” Jeno asks, surprised. Yeah, it’s not like he broke into the Dragon’s office not later than a month ago.

Haechan snorts like Jeno just said something hilarious. “Don’t play innocent, you’re too cute to be a criminal. You look like a puppy.”

Jeno feels his cheek redden at the mere thought of uttering the interrogation that just came into his mind and burns his tongue. “So you think I’m cute?”

Haechan rolls his eyes and bites his tongue, repressing a grin and, for a second, he doesn’t answer right away, like he’s… flustered? 

“Don’t let it go over your head, I’m more into bad boys.”

Jeno laughs softly, thinking about his activities he led for the last months. “Bad boys so... I think I can pull it off.”

“You’re interesting,” Haechan states, looking intently at him. Which makes Jeno blush a little before a smile appears on his lips. Haechan’s complimented him twice already. He doesn’t dare speaking up.

“About the lockpicks…” Haechan says. “I’m sorry, but I already sold them…”

“Oh.”

Well, it’s not like Jeno didn’t consider this event, after all people steal to get money, it doesn’t make the disappointment any less intense.

“But I can work on getting them back!”

“You mean stealing them back?”

“Yeah, I mean exactly that.”

Jeno sighs, amused. “I mean… I guess we all have different ways.”

“You know, you’re oddly okay with the fact that I steal stuff.”

“You don’t grow up in Brume, and outside the walls, without ever stealing anything.” Jeno shrugs. “Plus, you literally have magic hands, so no, I’m not surprised.”

Haechan snorts before saying suggestively. “You have no idea how magic they are yet.”

Jeno blushes tremendously. “Shut up, I could still call the police.”

Haechan laughs, it’s the most beautiful sound Jeno’s ever heard. Fresh and bubbly, like him. Jeno can’t stop smiling.

“The police can’t do anything against me.”

“Really?” Jeno doubts with a smirk.

“Really. I’m uncatchable, like those _Ombres_.”

Jeno laughs the irony away. “And yet, I found you.”

“Hence you have a special talent, congratulations,” Haechan mocks weakly in return.

“Or maybe you should just step up your game.”

Haechan gasps and gestures dramatically. “How do you even dare? And to think I started enjoying your company! I’m truly offended.”

He’s so involved in this little show of his that he doesn’t notice he’s about to cross the street, a foot already on the road, and he doesn’t see the racing car. 

Adrenaline and fear rush through Jeno’s veins. Without thinking twice, he grabs the magician by his shoulders and pulls him off the road, against his chest. He shouldn’t have moved so fast and he definitely shouldn’t have grasped Haechan so hard. Normal people can’t do that. Jeno loosens his hands. Haechan’s so close to him he feels both of their erratic heartbeats.

“Be careful!” He scolds.

Haechan turns over slowly to face him, dumbstruck. “I… uh, wow, uh… Thank you leather boy.”

“Can’t you drop this stupid nickname? It makes me sound like some weird pornstar.” They cross the road and Jeno places his hand between Haechan’s shoulder in a protective gesture. Haechan doesn’t seem to notice, only snickering at Jeno’s complaint.

“No, I don’t think I will. I quite like it. It’s amusing.”

“Let me remind you that you owe me one. Well, even two now.” 

“What do you mean I owe you two, leather boy?” Insisting on the nickname, the magician seems to have recovered from the shock and is determined to mess with Jeno as much as he can.

Yet again, Jeno rolls his eyes trying to conceal his smile. Yet again, Haechan smirks.

“First, I’m not getting my lockpicks back—”

“Yet.”

“Yet. And second, I just saved your life, I would have expected more gratitude.”

“So you’ve only saved me so I’d owe something,” Haechan sighs exaggeratedly. “Ah, boys nowadays…” He huffs, defeated. “Fine, I owe you two. What do you want?”

Jeno bites his lip, trying to gather the courage to ask what he has in mind.

“I’m not starring with you in a porn video, leather boy.” Haechan jokes, earning himself a strong flush on Jeno’s cheeks and another eye-roll. “Not on the first date at least.”

“Well, that’s kinda what I want... Not the porn! The date. I’d like a drink.”

“A drink? A single drink?”

“My treat!” Jeno clears up, afraid he’s vexed the magician.

“Not what I meant,” Haechan brushes off. “My _life_ is only worth _one drink_?!”

“No! It’s not what _I_ meant! I just want to get to know you more.”

Haechan looks at him, their eyes meet and his eternal smile shows Jeno he was only kidding.

“So, it only takes a few magic tricks and you want to know me?”

Well, technically, he’s right.

“I mean, keeping you from being rolled over has been pretty entertaining.”

“So one drink!” Haechan places a hand on his forehead like he’s some rich lady swooning, before getting more serious. He even avoids Jeno’s gaze. “You know, I don’t think we should get this drink. The more you watch a trick, the more the magic fades away.”

“I like to believe you’re more than just a magic trick,” Jeno replies without missing a beat.

Stunned, Haechan can’t answer that.

“So?”

Haechan doesn’t say anything but as he walks, he comes closer to Jeno. Jeno doesn’t know if the magician realizes it, but _he_ is very aware of it. The more the silence stretches, the more nervous Jeno gets. Fuck, why is he so pressing? He should just drop it.

“Okay!” Haechan finally speaks up. “One drink!”

Jeno grins widely. “Really? I’m sorry, I’ve been putting pressure on you.”

“Scrap the apologies, I’d like to take a drink with you, get used to that.”

A warm feeling blooms in Jeno’s chest. Haechan smiles at him, genuinely, as he steps in the light and the morning sun caresses his face, it suits him well. Jeno’s heart misses a beat. 

Wait… Why is the sun so high already? Abruptly reminded that time still passed while he was with Haechan, Jeno checks his watch.

Shit. He’s late. The smuggler is going to be up any minute now.

“As much as I’d love to talk to you more, I really need to hurry right now. I’m very sorry!” Without letting Haechan ask the questions he wears on his face, Jeno goes on. “Meet me at the coffee-shop in three days at five!”

Before Haechan can even answer, Jeno turns at the crossroad. It’s not really in his direction but he wants to hide from Haechan, having given him too many clues he’s an _Ombre_ already to allow him to see him climb the walls of buildings.

///

The next day, Jeno has an appointment with the Lieutenant. He’s stressed, because he’s meeting Moon alone, without Doyoung to silently help him. He’s got all the documents in a briefcase he intends to give to the Officer. The magistrates were relieved they got something on the seconds. Jeno doesn’t know how he’s supposed to take it.

The cold bites his cheeks as he gets into the disused warehouse. The winter kicked in early this year and the yellow of the streetlights aren’t warming him up. The Lieutenant is already waiting for him, leaning slightly against the hood of a civilized police car.

“Lieutenant Moon,” Jeno greets, extending his hand.

Moon shakes it and smiles at him. “Jeno, you can call me Taeil.”

“That’d be an honor, but I don’t think I can actually.” He laughs awkwardly. Oh, fuck, why is he like this?

Moon doesn’t seem to pay any mind to Jeno’s shyness. “So you got the scripts?”

“Right here. Take the whole briefcase, Doyoung suggested it’d be safer.”

At the mere mention of Doyoung’s name, Moon’s expression darkens. “Well, yes, he’s right.”

The Lieutenant opens his car and places the briefcase onto the passenger's seat. “We’re taking a lot of risks being here, so let’s be brief. I’m getting these documents to the magistrates not later than tonight, they should all be on their way by now. Opening a case against Jung will take some time, getting the warrant too, but we should be able to conduct a search of their quarters in four to five days. Even if you’re not affiliated to the police —which by the way you should consider, you’d be a great and needed addition— you’ll be considered a witness and you’ll have to testify during the trial. We’ll discuss the policy of witness protection later but I’ve already set myself to your protection.”

“I don’t need to be protected.” Moon arches an eyebrow, telling Jeno to tone down the arrogance. “It’s not about me, have you seen who I live with? Doyoung installed security measures like the building's a fortress.”

The Lieutenant humpfs. Jeno knows he’s got a point.

“What happened with Doyoung?” Jeno asks suddenly, letting his curiosity overflow. 

“Oh. What do you mean?”

“You and the other magistrates clearly… Well, you’re all tensed around him. And I’m used to the effect he has on people, but you share history with him apparently, so I wondered… Like I know seven years ago was a _chaotic_ time, and he and Taeyong almost never mention how it went down for them.”

The Lieutenant takes a deep breath and the time to think before answering.

“You’re right when you say it was a chaotic time, because hell, Brume was a mess. And I think you’re not without knowing that before the Dragon, there was a plethora of little gangs. And I know that Doyoung defended the Nakamotos against a really important one in court —the Proditors if I remember correctly— and he won the case. But you know him, right? He’s not big on winning fair and square.”

“Yeah, he’s just big on winning.”

“Exactly. So you can probably imagine that he may have used some shady ways. Nothing can be proved though. So this is as far as I know about the magistrates.”

“And about you?”

Even years after, the Lieutenant still looks pissed. “It’s never a pleasure when people who should be in jail escape it before even setting a foot there.”

Jeno nods, taking in the information Moon granted him. He’s not really surprised and he doesn't feel allowed to be angry about it. It all happened seven years ago, when he was only a kid in a shitty orphanage, and, even to this day, all the stories about that time contradict each other. Doyoung is helping him now, he’s against the Dragonnards, that’s all that really matters.

“This time will be different,” Moon insures. “We have the court on our side and you. Thank you Jeno.”

“I’m barely doing anything here. I just waltzed in the mess a few months when you’ve been fighting for over an entire decade.”

“And in these few months you made it possible to hold a trial against Jung. Some other people could have done it in the other way, you know? It’s more tempting to slip in Jung’s office and stab him in the heart. I think many people have tried actually. But you know the saying, right?”

“It takes a monster to kill a monster.”

“It takes a monster to kill a monster,” Moon repeats, contemplative. “You’re different. You believe in Brume.”

Jeno shakes his head. Moon’s words hit close to home, with them, Jeno feels a bit braver. He’ll win his fight against the Ombre. “It’s only possible because of your hard-work.”

“The hard-work is only my duty.”

“A lot of other police officers don’t see it that way though.”

A dark light fires in the Lieutenant’s eyes, in his eyes, anger mixes with a cold determination. In them, Jeno takes a glimpse of what it had been, struggling for years and waiting, waiting for the opportunity as the city shambles around you. He catches a glance of what it had been, watching body bags zipping, broken glass and black liquid spilling along with blood. The scar on the Lieutenant’s lips, in itself, tells a raw and red story. That man saw the darkest corners of Brume.

“You have no idea.” Moon whispers sorely. “Thank you. Again. I know I shouldn’t say this but you’re making the dream of my life a little more real.”

“Thank you Lieutenant,” Jeno finally accepts.

“Taeil.”

Jeno’s smile feels clumsy. “Thank you Tae— no I can’t sorry. I’ll try next time.”

Moon smiles at him, visibly fond before he sobers up, getting into his car. “Be careful, the night is dark around here.”

Jeno nods to him one last time and watches the car entering Brume with all its hope inside.

///

In the frenzy of the fight, Jeno feels alive.

He knows it’s bad, that it’s the _Ombre_ who’s telling him how to move, how to defend and how to ripost, and that it could take over him at any moment, but goddamn as wicked as it is, it feels amazing. He can’t help himself, he’s enjoying it.

He loves it. The deafening sound of a bullet, the slashes of blades and the cold of the iron, the electricity reverberating in his body when he hits, the red glow of blood and its metallic taste in his mouth. Of course, he doesn’t particularly like getting beat up —it doesn’t happen often though, if not ever— or harming his opponents. It’s the vivacity of the fight that thrills him. How he needs to understand not only himself, his body, movements, mind and strategies, but also his enemy’s. And, well, in this case, enemies.

He lives for those moments, when he analyzes how they operate, their weaknesses, strengths and quirks. It’s exhilarating, the discovery of yourself and of others in swift and strong moves, the rhythm he has to take and then break, the hits and the misses.

To him —or to the _Ombre_ — it’s a dance. His favorite. A dangerous, deadly dance.

Though fighting Dragonnards, as fun as it is, is not a part of the plan. Jeno fell into an ambush. As he was getting back to his apartment, he turned into a narrow alley and here they were, three Dragonnards waiting for him. He recognized them as such as one had his arm bare, showing the characteristic burn on his left forearm tracing the thin and complicated shape of a dragon.

Jeno looked over his shoulder to find two others closing his way out. Looking at how close the walls of the buildings were to each other, Jeno could have probably pulled off an escape like he did at the Dragon’s headquarters. But he waited, and one second after, a Dragonnard dived on him.

Jeno doesn’t panic. He evaluates the situation. He’s encircled by five men. Two unarmed are trying to get him right now and the two behind just moved closer to block his way out, one has a dagger and the other a bat, while the last one stays farther from the fight —a gun in the hand.

Jeno curses himself for leaving his daggers at home. He’d been stupid, with them, swift and deadly, he’s almost invincible. Now, he has to extricate himself from this ambush with only his keys in the pocket of his jeans. His keys. Yes, in the narrow street he doesn’t have enough space to move correctly and yes, five against one doesn’t look good, but the _Ombre_ knows better and he glimpses his victory. He lets this possibility intoxicate his mind as he avoids the thumps raining on him. 

He dodges the hits with ease and fights back without missing a beat. He’s surrounded, but his mind stays cool and his movements are sharp and keen like Doyoung’s. His training along with the _Ombre_ works wonders.

A bloody fists almost strikes Jeno, tracing a red brush on his cheek. The one who’s missed his shot —he’s got his front tooth missing— is destabilized. With his right hand, Jeno gets his keys, and with the left, in a strong movement, he catches the other man’s wrist. Totally paralyzed, this one doesn't have the time to groan that Jeno wrings his wrist already. It cracks, Jeno broke the bone. Confused, the man’s senses are blurred and he doesn’t see the silver flash whizzing by his temple. A blinding hit of pain and he’s unconscious. It took Jeno two seconds. The _Ombre_ told him to go for the throat, the flesh is softer, but he didn’t want to kill the man.

The man with the tooth missing can’t even move as Jeno spins around and comes for him. Jeno throws his elbow on his solar plexus. The man shrivels on himself automatically, his two hands clutching on his abdomen. Bad reflex, he can’t block the punch Jeno launches on his head. The man collapses.

Rustles behind Jeno. He pivots. A bearded man is rushing to him, a bat encircled with barbed wire in the hand. ‘How cliché,’ Doyoung would snicker. Understanding his tiny keys won’t be of a great help, he drops them on the ground, not bothering to put them back into his pocket. The bat flies at him from the right. Jeno reacts immediately. With a single kick, using the thick sole of his shoe, he throws the bat out of the man’s hands, sending it spinning in the air. He catches the handle before it tumbles on the ground. He’s not a big fan of long-range weapons, but this will do for now.

Bending the muscles of his arms, he anchors his feet solidly. With a powerful strike, he mows down the man’s leg. A loud _**crack!**_ confirms him at least one, but most probably several, bone is broken. The barbed wire tears red slits on the man’s skin. He’s wailing but Jeno is already looking elsewhere. 

There are still two men needing to be taken care of, one ahead with a gun and one behind with a knife. They probably are a little bit irritated he just demolished three of their buddies, so, why aren’t they doing anything? They’re already close, and one has a gun. Jeno feels the blood pulsing in his veins. Why aren’t they doing anything? He hasn’t got enough of the fight.

A thrill descends through his spine. No, the _Ombre_ hasn’t got enough, not him.

His grip tightens on the bat’s handle. 

Nothing happens. The man with the gun is staring at him and behind him, Jeno doesn’t hear any footsteps.

He steps forward, jerking the man in front of him out of his immobility. Brusquely, he pulls out the gun and aims at Jeno. _Good_ , Jeno thinks, taking a closer look at the gun. He glances to his rear, the one with the blade is approaching him in the tight street, right behind. _Even better_.

“Another step, kid, and I shoot.” The man threatens. His jaws are clenched and his tone furious. His eyes flicker from Jeno to his buddy. 

“We both know you’d better not.” Jeno answers simply. He doesn’t mind the danger and keeps walking.

The gun trembles in the man’s hands as Jeno comes closer and closer, his pace nerve-wracking tranquil.

A teenager in a hoodie shouldn’t be that scary, even with a bloody barbed wire bat in hands. The young man moves slowly, gracefully, his eyes darker and colder than a moonless night. The man sees the promise of death in it. He suddenly realizes he and the others made a terrible mistake. The legends were real. He’s not facing a regular teenager, but a creature of the night, a ruthless killer, an _Ombre_. Even with a gun in hands, the man trembles with fear.

“That’s a big fat gun you have there,” Jeno comments casually. “A Holer 127, made to pierce the hardest bones with their long and pointy bullets. Once, I saw one burrowed into a concrete wall after it went through a whole ass body. Can you believe this? I’m sure you do, you seem to be an experimented man, right?” Jeno can hear all of Doyoung’s arrogance spilling in his words. The man shakes his head up and down like he’s a child. “You five look like a well-oiled team, that’d be a shame if you’d kill your buddy with me. That’s why you didn’t shoot earlier, and that’s why you’re not shooting now. You see, him right behind me, you’d get him down with me.” Jeno takes a moment to look at the man’s pupils dilate with terror. He’d be lying if he says he doesn’t enjoy it. “Now, what you're going to do is simple, you’re going to let me go or I’ll change my mind and kill you all rather than leaving you unconscious on the streets like rats.”

The man is hesitating. Jeno can tell it because of his slight gulp, the sweat on his forehead and the look he gives to his buddy. He gives up, taking a step backward. A part of Jeno wants to leave like that, not harming them anymore, but he knows he can’t. And, another part doesn’t want to.

Before the Dragonnards can even understand anything, Jeno’s elbow hits the nose of the one with a gun so hard he collapses and snatches the weapon from his hand. Turning around, he aims the other, stopping him in a rush. He shoots twice, one for each knee. The one with the dagger falls to the ground and vomits out in pain. A putrid smell mixes with the blood’s one.

Two men howling in pain, the other three knocked out, Jeno still takes the time to pick up his keys three meters away and three bodies to step over. He also drops the ridiculous bat.

Urgency rings in his ears, he has to come home quickly and safely. He’ll use the roofs.

///

Doyoung is fuming, pacing back and forth in the apartment under the gaze of Taeyong in his human shape, sitting on the couch. This one looks weird, like he’s seen a ghost and he clutches Jeno like he’s going to disappear. Jeno came back five minutes ago, he didn’t have the time to ask for news about the Lieutenant or the magistrates since Taeyong, seeing the blood on his knuckles, rushed to him and made him explain what had happened.

“Five men?! He only sent five ridiculous henchmen?!” Doyoung snarls. Offended, his voice is sour and rasp. “Little incapable brutes. Who does he think you are ?!”

“You sure you’re fine?” Taeyong asks Jeno, completely ignoring Doyoung.

“Yes, don’t worry, Yongie. They didn’t touch me.”

“Let me just check, in the action of a fight sometimes you don't feel the hits.”

“And a _barbed wire bat_?!” Doyoung scoffs. “What a cruel lack of style.”

“No really, I’m totally fine.” Jeno insists.

“Let Taeyong examine you, Jeno.” Doyoung snaps out of his rant. “Please, you have blood on your cheek.”

Jeno sighs and gets up, right away followed by Taeyong he pulls off his clothes not bothering to suppress an annoyed sigh. “I said I’m fine.”

Taeyong looks over him and palpates his legs, arms and chest, looking for any broken bones or sprained ankles or whatever, while Doyoung starts to rail again.

“Did he really think they could kill you? No, I can’t believe it. He can’t be that stupid. What a disappointment though. I swear he’s going to pay for it.”

“Well, Jeno you’re indeed fine,” Taeyong declares, “but I maintain what I said, it was important to check. _Ombres_ regenerate faster, it could have gone wrong for a bone.”

“Good. Can I put my clothes back on now?”

“Of course.”

The _Shapeshifter_ plops down on the couch. He snuggles against Jeno when, now dressed, falls back next to him. Jeno listens to the sound of Doyoung breathing getting calmer, though the man’s still angrily pacing..

“Can’t you just sit down?” Taeyong complains.

“I’m thinking.”

“You can think without stressing me out.”

Doyoung only hums in return, but after short minutes he sits down with them. Yet, his back stays straight, his feet fixed to the ground and his legs perfectly parallel.

“Just look at how stiff he is,” Taeyong whispers playfully to Jeno, immediately making him smile. “Hey, old man, relax. Your protégé isn’t dead.” He calls as he pokes Doyoung’s lap.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I know. I’m only irritated by Jung’s audacity. That’s all.”

Jeno curls up a bit more against Taeyong.

“Yeah, right. I should know about that.” Taeyong rolls his eyes and laughs quietly before he speaks softly into Jeno’s ear. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t want to show it but he’s already planned fifty-four ways to kill those bastards in vengeance. And I’ll gladly help.”

Jeno grins as Doyoung chokes on his breathing. Taeyong’s right. Doyoung doesn’t add anything, but he doesn’t contest either, only laying down on the couch and leaning his head on Taeyong’s shoulder.

“I should call Moon,” Jeno says. He doubts that the Officer could have been beaten, not after all those years, but it seems Jung knew about the operation. Maybe the Dragonnards stole the scripts? Maybe they killed the magistrates?

As if on cue, the fixed-line phone rings, startling them. Jeno stands up and gets to the phone.

“It’s probably Moon!” Taeyong exclaims. He moves to sit tighter and look at Jeno. Doyoung is already standing up.

“Hello?” Jeno picks up.

Instead of Moon’s familiar smooth voice, a deeper one answers. Jeno immediately recognizes it, having listened to it on records.

“Lee Jeno, what a pleasure to finally hear from you, although I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to tell you.” Jeno’s grip tightens on the phone, fear twisting his stomach. Over the phone, Hui sounds much more dangerous. Jeno’s got an idea what will follow, he just doesn't want to voice it. “You can’t imagine our surprise —and the Dragon’s wrath— when we discovered the bugs. I hope you had fun listening to us.” Hui doesn’t try to cover his anger, his voice sounding like the threatening growl of a thunder. “Congratulations, you’re cleverer than we thought. Stronger too. I almost couldn’t believe it when my men came back without your head. But you and your friends weren’t smart enough. Ackerman, Yager, Printemps… the Lieutenant.” Jeno’s blood rushes in his veins. He prays he’s wrong. “Yeah, the Lieutenant was a pain in the ass but his connection with you was the trigger Jung needed to finally take care of him.” Hui laughs. “You might want to check the news.”

Having heard Hui, Taeyong had rushed to get the remote control and turned on the TV. 

“... police Officer, Lieutenant Moon Taeil, well-known for his bravery and dedication to the city, was found dead.”

Jeno almost drops the phone. His heart sinks in his chest. He looks at Taeyong, who’s horrified, his eyes are wide open and his hand clutches the remote control. On the other hand, if Doyoung is feeling anything, he doesn’t let it show.

The Lieutenant… dead? Moon Taeil, savior of Brume, dead? It can’t be real...

“The police report states that he’s been shot several times in the chest and struggled against his opponents. His body was found in a warehouse and his car several streets away with signs of a break-in. The notorious gang of the Dragonnars is already on the list of suspects but the Inspectors chose not to dismiss any other possible lead. We’ve also been informed that Nakamoto Yuta, CEO of Energie Inc. has already donated to his family to offer Brume’s hero a grave to the height of his accomplishments. We send to his family and loved-ones our most sincere condolences. May Brume never forget him.

“On other news, tonight looks full of tragedies. Indeed, earlier this evening, a car-crash killed four people and caused a fire. The bodies are yet to be identified but according to witnesses the cab conveyed three magistrates, Mr. Jager, Mrs. Printemps and Mrs. Ackerman, and their driver, Mr. Paulin. The circumstances of the accident are still unclear, but we’d like to remind our dear inhabitants to drive safely, respect the…”

Jeno tunes out.

“His death was long and painful, but expect a meaner treatment from the Dragon if you stand in our way.” Hui rumbles the final menace before hanging up.

The room dives into silence, Taeyong having turned off the TV.

Anger. Anger rises in Jeno’s chest. He feels his jaws clenching, his hand grasping the phone so violently it threatens to shatter, and a gloomy presence waking up inside of him. If he could, he’d fly to the Dragon’s headquarters and burn it down. It’d be stupid, and he knows Doyoung has a more methodical approach of destruction already planned. Jeno finds himself to hope it will be brutally satisfying.

He shoves down his anger and tries to even his breath. He shouldn’t think like that.

Moon is dead. The magistrates are dead. In a single night, Jung killed the future of Brume and the hope of Jeno. Where all the other cops closed their eyes, where all the politicians laughed, where all the businessmen made money, Moon stood and fought. During a decade and until his last breath, he fought against the crime, immorality and injustice. Jeno pictures him, his body on the cold stone of a random warehouse’s ground, lifeless and covered with blood, his eyes that’d been once ardent now shut down. Jeno’s heart shatters.

And the magistrates… The magistrates, after years of silence and contemplation, convinced by the Lieutenant, had finally come out of their shell and were ready to give Brume a chance. They were the only ones in this rotten system to believe in the city. And they’re dead.

All of Jeno’s hopes for a safe and incorrupt city fell with Moon. Deprived of its protector, Brume will perish.

Jeno understands what Moon’s death means. He can sense Doyoung’s gaze on him. He will have to bring the Dragon down by himself, and with him, all of the Dragonnards. It’ll be dangerous, the enemies are numerous and powerful and the _Ombre_ will be quick to devour him from the inside to the slightest error. But he can’t back out now, not after the four of them gave their life to Brume’s future. Jeno will have to fight using Doyoung’s and Jung’s ways.

‘It takes a monster to kill a monster.’

Jeno understands that he has to dirty his hands for the sake of the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ,,,,Hi again :D
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this first part! I know it was exposition heavy but to make up for it with the other parts we're diving right into the action. And yes, I killed off Taeil very quickly. I'm very sorry, I truly am. 
> 
> Thank you very much for reading. I would be MORE than delighted to hear any of your thoughts, questions, and opinions, so don't hesitate to leave a comment, or to yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kitty_track) or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/kitty_track)! Kudos are greatly appreciated too :]
> 
> Have a nice day/night, and see you next week!


	2. Part II — Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Remember in the first part when I told you about all the TWs? Yeah, well they're becoming very relevant again. This part deals with murder, a lot physical violence, a ton of blood, guns, and a pretty gruesome gore passage. I also forgot to includes it in the first part but TW // mentions of forced prostitution. We're going gore here, and it'd be very difficult to ignore all the triggers because this part is... it's a ride, but I'm including in the notes at the end a quick description of what goes on if you want to skip this part and move on to the next one, which will be wayyyyy easier. Also, if we're uncomfortable with sexual, it is best for me to warn you that Jeno gets into a brothel and has a rather steamy conversation at some point, I'd say.
> 
> I'm super duper excited to post this one, part II - Nightamres includes one of the favorite things I've written EVER, and top three of my most favorite ombre moments. If the first part was exposition heavy, we're now going right into the heart of the action, if I may say, and into the darkness.
> 
> Have a pleasant read, again, it's a ride ;)

For the last time, Jeno and Doyoung are carefully reviewing their plan. Taeyong laying on the table, in his cat shape, a loud purr soothing the atmosphere as Jeno distractedly scratches his neck. 

Usually, Doyoung schemes in a rudimentary way. With a pen and sheets of paper, he establishes the stakes, what he wants, what his opponents want, the most efficient way to succeed, and all the possible outcomes and consequences of their confrontation. Jeno had a suggestion though, he wanted to try to pin things on a board. Doyoung turned down his proposition immediately. Surely, he wasn’t that childish, especially talking about serious matters such as the destruction of a gang having deeply infested the city with its roots for years and years.

Yet, here he is, standing next to a board, pointing to different pictures, locations, and highlighted parts of the written outline of the plan —Jeno had agreed they were useful. He doesn’t need to remind himself of the plan, and he doubts that by now, Jeno doesn’t know it by heart too, but the young man he considers as his little brother asked him to check once again, how could he say no? Doyoung would repeat the same bullshit for hours if it meant calming Jeno’s nerves, even if he’s convinced of the flawlessness of the plan —otherwise it wouldn’t be their plan. 

For three days, Doyoung, Jeno, and Taeyong had their minds working on every machinery and every possible issue. It was delicate, but they made it work. A bitter taste keeps on lingering in his mouth, but Doyoung shoves down his guilt. He’s supporting Jeno, his past doesn’t matter.

The organization of the gang is a master’s work, the Dragon and his Dragonnards living on four different incomes of money. Under the management of Jung, the casinos and swindles are handled by the hypnotizing Hyuna, the brothels and nightclubs by the _Crystallizor_ Dawn, the mercenaries by Hui, and, the biggest one, the drug network, is solely controlled by him in person. Only the Dragon has contact with the purest Tenebres dealer. He sends the Rechte the _Flores Tenebres_ , and in exchange, receives his part of the drugs. Three seconds, and a leader. Three pillars, and a master.

It would bring complete chaos if the seconds happened to disappear, but Jung would find new ones, less experimented, and less known, the dirty legend of the Triple H preceding them, but they’d pull it off. Never underestimate a hungry rat, Doyoung had learned.

And if the Dragon died, the seconds would take over. It would be rough, and they’d lose a shitton of money, because, greedy, Jung’s exceptionally secretive, only he knows in its whole the gang’s machinery. He’d separated Triple H so they wouldn’t communicate and listening to the recordings confirmed Doyoung’s theories, Jung had stirred up conflict between the three of them so they’d betray each other yearning for power.

So they’d still find a new supplier, but the quality of the drug would drop, and they’d lose customers, yet Doyoung knows that even with Jung gone, they’d survive and the gang would still be working. A weakened gang, but a working one.

“... and there’s the secret he protects the most…” Doyoung leaves his sentence on hold, waiting for Jeno to finish it.

———

“The smuggler,” Jeno’s brain automatically supplies. Jeno’s followed the guy these last days.

“Right, alias Jung’s only connection to his drug supplier.”

Dong Sicheng, said supplier. From Rheingen, he’s a crazy, scary man, apparently, but Jeno doubts someone in Brume other than Jung, and the smuggler, has ever met him. There’s plenty of stories about him though. Called the Rechte, some say that he’s a ghost, some that he’s the god Death, and some that he birthed himself in the Tenebres. He’s the only man in the world producing a ninety-nine percent pure drug, that’s a fact, and he uses the cult he’s the leader of to achieve that —only fanatics would willingly almost bath themselves into toxic chemicals— that’s also a fact. The rituals of the cult or their beliefs are a mystery, only one symbol’s known: the right hand.

Jung’s a member of it, the tattoo of a demon’s face coming from heavy puffs of smoke on his neck proudly proving it —no one other than Sicheng knows why his tattoo differs from the usual motives drawn on the right hand— and that’s how he got into the Rechte’s rare favors. His smuggler is the only connection to Sicheng and if he loses it, the drug runs dry, Jung loses his money, loses his power.

“You have two days.” Doyoung says. “You need to hit fast, the key here is the surprise, this whole plan relies on your strength and on your ability to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Jung needs to be overwhelmed by his empire crumbling under his feet, then, he won’t see you coming for his throat.”

Jeno nods slowly while Doyoung stares at him. Their whole plan is a bit overwhelming, and frankly terrifying. He wonders if he really can kill the most dangerous criminals in Brume in one night, if not at all.

“You’re more than capable of doing this.” Doyoung says as if he’s read Jeno’s mind. Taeyong rubs his head against Jeno’s palm, confirming Doyoung’s words.

“I don’t know… I’ve never done anything this big before, you know? Arresting third-rate thieves is nothing compared to murdering the seconds _and_ the Dragon.”

“If I didn’t think you were capable of it, it wouldn’t be our plan.”

“But what if innocent people are in the way? What if I have to kill a dumb henchman who was just doing his job to survive?”

“It might come to this.” Doyoung states calmy, without batting an eyelash. Jeno wonders what it was like to be his age seven years ago in Brume. Knowing that the city is safer now, even being rich, Doyoung must have gone through rough patches. Jeno’s accustomed to his dead cold pragmatism, but what he can’t get used to is the fear of becoming what he fights. “Nevertheless, if everything goes according to the plan, and it will, you won’t have to.”

Jeno doesn’t answer right away before chuckling bitterly. “It still feels like I’m becoming this stereotypical _Ombre_ assassin. Coming after their lives in the night, killing them before they can even see me coming… There’s a difference between defending myself and simply attacking.”

“Brume is nothing but a gigantic trap, and you know that. It’s merely a strike but more of a counterattack. There’s no point in trying to see them as normal people, they’re making money out of murders, addictions, and misery. And you want to end that. It’s nothing but pure logic.” 

“What if I become like them? What’s the point in trying to eradicate the evil out of Brume then?”

“You won’t.”

“Doesn’t it take a monster to kill a monster?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes, visibibly trying to find an appropriate answer before shrugging. “Then kill two monsters.”

Jeno huffs. If only it was that easy. He closes his eyes and rubs his temples. It’s almost three in the morning and they’ve been working their ass off for the past three days. He’s exhausted and even if the _Ombre_ is quiet in this peaceful environment, Jeno still dreads the moment he’ll have to face it. It’s coming. He can sense it, the soft rumbling in his chest awoken since Hui’s phone call. Like a predator, the _Ombre_ is waiting for the right time to jump out of its hiding place.

If only it wasn’t so easy to turn into a monster, and if only he knew a way to come back as himself, he might have considered using the _Ombre_ , but surrounded by incertitude and fear, he can only play with the edge, getting closer and closer, hoping he won’t fall.

///

Jeno brushes his hair back and starts moving. The night had already fallen on the city with its usual mist when the smuggler finally leaves. Jeno had spent the entire day perched on a building, observing the docks’ activities, following his back and forths. The smuggler blends perfectly with the tailors and traders. He’s a regular dude, minding his regular business. Only the intricate tattoo on his right hand differentiates him from the others. He hides it with the standard gloves workers are obligated to wear, and with make-up when he’s not working. He makes it work, but Jeno still noticed it a few times over the past months, but only because he was already aware of its presence.

Silent like a shadow, he glides on the roofs, following the smuggler’s figure cut by the weak and twitching street lights. A predator hovering upon his prey, he’s uncatchable, blending with the darkness of the night as if he was born here.

The streets narrow as the smuggler sinks into the city. He’s joining his home, a tiny apartment full of mess and questionable life decisions, and plans to get some money to play at his regular casino, his lucky charm, a tiny sock, warm in the pocket of his jeans. After two corners, he’ll have to pass through one of the numerous galleries of the city, burrowed into a decrepit building, a cramped place where all of the shops went bankrupt a while ago.

The whole West side of the city outside is controlled by the Dragon, from the 5th Port to far deeper in the South. The poverty outside the walls crushes the people, allowing a person like Jung to take advantage of them and rule his empire peacefully. But in his territory, misery is even more prominent and ingrained, as the area wasted away decades and decades ago when its source of money, the city Marcy linked to Brume by the railroad, fell into decay as Landres’ capital got bigger and bigger. Brume’s ports were better equipped, and the people richer. As it’s known, money attracts money, and Brume sucked all of it out of Marcy. It’s almost funny, how Jung transformed the old train station into his headquarters. Very ironic.

The smuggler enters the gallery, where he’s the most trapped and vulnerable. Jeno hurries his pace to overtake him. He’s progressing smoothly, just another shadow in the night. Completely absorbed by the moment, there’s nothing else in the world that matters other than the way his feet meet the rough tiles, how the cold wind brushes against the fabric of his clothes, how his muscles bend and relax without the slightest difficulty. His moves are automatic and fluid, his balance perfect, his senses acute. An utter peace fills him, only disrupted by a tight feeling in his chest he ignores, like a creature is trying to dig its way out. 

He hears the sound of the smuggler’s heartbeat, muffled by the bricks between them. Heels clicking against the tiling, a regular heartbeat and a raw cough. Soon, the smuggler will be out of the gallery.

Jeno’s crouching right above the end of it, at the edge of the building. He estimates the height. Around seven meters. He can fall that high. 

He gathers his weight, and, without any further thoughts, he jumps.

The fall is quick, only a few seconds when he senses the exhilarating pull of gravity pressuring his body. A giggle bubbles up in his chest before he lands up. Without curling up on himself, merely squatting, or even rolling on the ground to soften the rude shock, he stands up. His body absorbs it without a single bone breaking or a muscle trembling. The _Ombre_ protects Jeno.

———

The smuggler’s almost heart struck. He can’t quite believe his eyes. Did someone really fall from a three-story building in front of him? He rushes to the hunched-over figure, trying to understand why the hell someone would jump from that high, but hoping he won’t have to stay too long near the creep.

Surprise shakes him up when the figure rises, dark and athletic. It stands, stopping him in his run-up. Slowly, it turns over, revealing a man. His outfit could frighten the smuggler, black fabric tight around the man, his silhouette is framed by belts equipped with shiny blades barely hidden by the leather jacket. But that’s not what scares him. A sudden cold air blows the back of his neck.

He thought _Ombres_ were only legends.

Having worked for the Rechte, he’d heard stories about dark spies and fighters, but he never believed those. How could someone even turn into a shadow?

The man stares at him, his eyes black and cold. The smuggler wishes he could run, or that he could at least move, instead, he’s petrified on the spot by a simple glare.

“Hello, Simon.” The man says as he walks toward the smuggler.

Terrified, he can’t even move a finger. _How does he know my name?!_ Soon enough, he’s cornered against the wall. The man stands a meter away from him, and, if he wants to, he can easily encircle his throat and his life right here, right now.

But there’s something he must want. So the smuggler doesn’t crumble.

“H-How do you know my name?” He can barely articulate.

“Does it really matter? I’m here because I’ve heard about your activities in the 5th Port.”

His stomach drops to his feet. If the man knows who’s his boss, and, if his boss learns about this… Goosebumps rise on his skin. He tries to pull a composure, understanding that having found out about his connection to the Dragonnards, the man is here to take advantage of it. A dash of relief. Simon won’t die tonight. 

“I’ve heard many other things actually. You’re greatly in debt. See, you don’t have the hand lucky —or talented— in poker, and now you’re wedged with the Dragon. Lucky you, your life is priceless. Well, at least your connection with Sicheng is.”

Simon stops breathing. The second of silence stretches for an eternity. 

Because Simon is a dead man. Either the man graces him with a blissful death right now, either Sicheng finds out he’s blown his cover, and after months and months of torture and atrocities, the Rechte will make the shell of the man he used to be, his slave.

“Jung hides you jealously, you know that? I’m impressed… But I’ve heard something even more precious. Somewhere in Ruinart street, there’s an orphanage.” _No._ “Somewhere in the orphanage there’s a little girl. Elsa.” _No._ “Her mother died at her birth, and her dad, achieving the impossible, hid her, and protected her from both his boss, and his creditor. She likes sweets and hot chocolate, but Mrs. Pimper is pretty strict and only allows it on Saturday nights. Pimper is very old, but still kicking.”

_No._

As the man seethes, pure terror creeps in Simon. Like venom, it infiltrates his veins and clutches his stomach. A drop of sweat runs on his forehead.

“What do you want from me?!” He yells, so different from the deadly calmness of the man.

 _He found Elsa._ The cruel thought pounds on his mind like a tireless red light. _He found Elsa. He found Elsa. He found Elsa._

The man smirks. “I want you to disappear—” his hand dives into a pocket. Simon’s heart drops. He’s been wrong. Tonight's the night he dies. He gulps and closes his eyes, waiting for his death to come. On the verge of crying, he regrets not protecting his daughter better, but can’t help but feel relieved that the Rechte won’t find him alive. Simon takes a last, deep breath, but instead of a blade in his heart, or a bullet in his head, he feels a pat on the chest. “— to take this money and get into the next boat with your little girl. Bring her far away from this hellish city, and from Sicheng. Start a new life, and never return or I’ll slash both of your throats.”

Dumbfounded, Simon contemplates the bills. _An angel of death._ It’s all he’s ever wanted: enough money to start a new life with Elsa, to give her a childhood and a decent future. An _Ombre_ , a death promise in flesh, is offering him his dream on a golden plate. _An angel of death._

The man’s eyes follow his movement as he approaches a quacking hand to the heavy rolls of bills. The dark glint tells Simon that the kindness he’s showing is as real as his threat. He stares at him, his sweaty hand wetting the bills, incredulous. The man moves backward, giving him the space to flee. Simon attempts a hesitating step, not really believing the man is letting him go that easily. Recognizing he won't lay a finger on him, he rushes far away to escape with his daughter, missing to stumble several times.

———

Jeno breathes in, and deeply exhales. The tension slowly leaves his body, like waves withdrawing in the sea. He reaches for his phone and dials Doyoung’s number. After a single ringtone, he hears his voice, all the tension left vanishes.

“So?”

“Everything went alright. The smuggler is going to get his daughter.”

“Perfect. I’m telling Taeyong to move. I’m already waiting for you.”

///

Doyoung hangs up. He looks at Taeyong who’s furiously biting his nails in the passenger seat. They share a glance. Having Taeyong next to him, outside the apartment is… strange. It’s been seven years, and he doesn’t know how to feel either about the _Shapeshifter_ having to stay in the apartment, or him leaving it tonight. He’s mad at Jung, that’s for sure, but anger has always been a constant in his life and Taeyong taught him exactly to… analyze in more depth his emotions.

Sure, he wants to rip off Jung’s head for having deprived Taeyong of his freedom —and for many other reasons— but he’s also happy Taeyong gets the time, and a safe space to heal. Plus, Doyoung suspects the _Shapeshifter_ doesn’t really mind having to stay inside. Outside has been rough.

Sometimes, Taeyong turns into an eagle and flies past the city to visit the countryside over the clouds. It’s risky but needed. Less frequently, he lands into a village, turning human in the shape of a random stranger, and lives outside for an afternoon, knowing that Jung has men all over the country and accepting the danger. Doyoung doesn’t like it, but he’d be damned to make a single comment about it. It’s Taeyong’s life.

He’s happy, too, that Jeno is going to destroy Jung and his Dragonnards, as he calls them. The imposture has been long enough, and if Jeno finds a purpose in it, that’s good. He’s scared for the kid though. Not that he’ll die or anything, but that his stupid morals will swallow him before he finds himself.

Doyoung doesn’t really understand. Such questions never bothered him. Unlike Jeno, he’s never been anything other than darkness and selfishness. He was comfortable in his realm of shadows. Taeyong was the first light of his life and he fought to give a place to shine with him —even if he’d die rather than admitting out loud— and Jeno’s the second. He’ll fight for him too. 

Doyoung lifts his arm to strike Taeyong’s neck in a gesture he wishes isn’t stiff or unnatural.

“The guy took fright. Right?” Taeyong asks.

“Yes. You should head to the orphanage.”

Doyoung pulls over. They’re not far from there. Taeyong will catch the smuggler quickly, follow him around, and head back home before the morning. The _Oeils_ that could see through Taeyong’s shifts are busy and don’t even know that Simon Schneider is the cornerstone of the drug’s empire in Brume, so they don’t protect him. Jung’s greediness makes him stupid.

Taeyong nods and takes a deep breath, looking right straight ahead of him.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Doyoung wonders coldly if Taeyong is able to complete his task, and then thinks of a way to fix the hole in their plan, not sounding like he cares about his friend’s well-being. He knows that, and he wishes he could show his genuine concern, but it’s the best he can offer. Taeyong sees past his walls though, and as much as it used to infuriate him, he’s grateful now.

“We have to make sure the smuggler leaves the city.”

“I could leave Jeno alone and make sure of that myself.”

Taeyong shakes his head softly. “He needs you.”

“He doesn’t.”

Jeno doesn’t need him. The kid is… scary, and both Triple H and Jung don’t stand a chance against him. Doyoung wonders what it would have been like to have an _Ombre_ rising against the gangs back in old days. They, for sure, would have had much more troubles establishing their current supremacy. Jeno is powerful, so powerful even, that Doyoung might understand why he’s afraid of himself.

Obscure research he led when he rescued him taught him that not only _Ombres_ —children of the god Death, according to the a religion Doyoung calls mythology— in their usual state are stronger, faster and equipped with better senses than the average human, but that they’re capable of turning into literal shadows one might call demons. All the potential remaining untapped unnerves him, and he desperately wonders what the kid could accomplish with all that strength.

“Yes, he does.” Taeyong insists, giving him a knowing look. He’s right.

“We could pay someone.” Doyoung suggests carefully before being cut in his thoughts by Taeyong’s sharp tone.

“Please, I’m not defenseless.” Doyoung hears what Taeyong doesn’t speak. _Not anymore._ “I used to kick some asses back in the days, remember?”

Pride blooms in his chest. Taeyong calling himself something close to dangerous is something he’d never thought he’d ever heard, and yet here is the _Shapeshifter_ , outside, risking his life with a fierce light in the eyes. 

“Of course I do. I’ve always loved the wolf.”

Taeyong chuckles. “It’s a classic.”

“How do you feel?” Doyoung gets back on track.

“Weird.” Taeyong admits. “Being here, especially outside the walls… it’s like being back in time.” Doyoung hums. “Things aren’t the same, though. The gates of the walls are open now, the city got bigger, there’s even a middle class outside the walls! Yes, it still reeks like hell. Some things never changed.”

“You changed though. You really did.”

Taeyong smiles, a dash of sadness or melancholy or just something Doyoung can’t identify passing on his face. “Guess you’re right.” Doyoung would like to show Taeyong how strong and great he is, but he’s never been good with words.

“I should go now.” Taeyong says, unfastening his belt. “Text me when you get to Jeno. Also, tell him I love him and that he better come back in one piece.” He gets out of the car. “Ah! And I’ll cut your throat if anything happens to him.” 

He looks at Doyoung one last time, making sure he got it, before turning into a black cat —less recognizable than a white one in the night.

Doyoung follows with his eyes the tiny figure as long as he can before starting the ignition. He knows Taeyong isn’t fond of the idea of Jeno attacking the most powerful gang of the city, and that he’d prefer him staying home and having less… deadly, hobbies —he even tried to push Jeno to get into university— but as frightened as he is for Jeno’s safety, Doyoung also knows that he’s more than delighted to imagine Jung’s dead body exposed on the streets, figuratively, or not.

///

Jeno’s about to join Doyoung, approaching the Esnar, Hyuna’s main casino doubled with the biggest nightclub in town, the Reverie. It’s in Jung’s territory but not so far from the walls that it’s still socially acceptable for the rich businessmen to throw their money on the tables and watch young and pretty people dance while sipping expensive cocktails. They also adore Hyuna and would never miss an opportunity to try to seduce her. 

The adrenaline of his meeting with Simon still runs in his veins. Jeno walks fast. 

A loud call stops him in his tracks.

“Leather boy!”

He freezes for a second, not believing his ears, but as he turns around it’s well and truly Haechan he sees walking toward him leisurely, as if he doesn't look like he comes straight from a dream, appearing in an aureole of golden light. Jeno’s heart tightens. As much as he’d love talking to him, it’s really, _really_ not the moment.

Haechan doesn’t stand that close to him, but Jeno can smell the alcohol, cigarette and perfume flying around. It’s different from his usual fresh scent. He’s been into the Esnar, or the Reverie.

“Oh, hi Haechan! I, uh, so sorry but uh… I can’t really talk right now, I’m uh… busy. I’m so sorry!”

“Why?” Haechan squints, suspicious, and definitely drunk. “You’re meeting with someone?”

“No! Not at all!”

“Good.” Haechan softens, placing a hand on Jeno’s arm. His sleeves are rolled up until his elbows and Jeno can’t help but check for the Dragonnard’s burn on his forearm. There’s nothing on his skin, and as Jeno feels dumb for having suspected him in the first place, he’s mostly relieved. “You can go back to save a cat stuck on a tree or whatever good shit you were doing, I won’t hold you back longer. Though, I need to say I’m thrilled that you’re wearing the jacket. I missed it.”

“Yeah, it’s really practical to put…” Jeno stops himself from outright telling him he’s carrying blades, and gun with him, “stuff in it. Stuff in it. Yeah.” Hurriedly, he fixes his jacket so it covers all the weapons. 

To Jeno’s disappointment, Haechan’s hand leaves his arm and the magician arches an eyebrow, silently asking for an explanation he decently can’t provide.

“I’m excited about our date,” he blurts out instead, finding a distraction.

Haechan’s confusion turns into smugness. His smirk throws Jeno off balance, who finds himself very, very stupid.

“I’m sorry! Is it a date? Did you get the card? Fuck, I should have just told you… Can you come? Are you free? I mean it’s a date only if you want to. Sorry? Sorry.”

Haechan bursts out laughing, with a funny light in the eyes that Jeno, even though he’s dying from embarrassment, can’t help but find reassuring. 

“Don’t be late for your cat.” Haechan mocks, pushing his chest gently. Jeno opens his mouth, but then closes it. He’s disappointed, but he doesn’t want to force the magician to do anything. “And, yes, I got the card. See you, leather boy… for our date.”

With a wink and a sparkly laugh, Haechan leaves a very dumbfounded Jeno. 

It takes a bit to Jeno to come back to his surroundings. Meeting Haechan always feels out of reality, but in this dark and cold night, it’s difficult to believe he hadn’t been enraptured in somewhat of an illusion. He wonders if there’s a reason he met him right before plunging in the darkness, like it’s some weird symbol or play of fate, or of the seven gods, or if Haechan simply wanted to have a fun time in the Reverie.

But as beautiful and enchanting the magician is, Jeno has more important matters to think about. He takes a deep breath, the freezing air filling his lungs has the effect of a bucket of ice spilled onto him. He walks fast, the watch on his wrist informing him he’s not late, yet.

///

Jeno plays with a knock in the guts. The cards fly and chips quickly swap. He sips his golden drink and chats with other players, concealing his nervousness as much as he can. Not that he’s worried to lose some money. He’s not bad. Not outstanding either, but that’s exactly the point. He’s a regular player. He went in, and will walk out of the building, carelessly. Plus, Doyoung has enough money to buy the city, so he’s not really scared to scrap a few bills.

They’re playing a local game built on bets and duels, the Luminator. The woman beside him is winning, the piles of chips in front of her showing off her superiority, the same way her red lips widened into a cocky smile do. The tension is building up as everyone announces their bets. The croupier closes them, and orders for the cards to be revealed. The woman with red lipstick shouts victory, gaining the biggest bet, as the man across the table grunts and glares at her. She sweeps his chips and the other players exchange their stakes.

As she almost stands up to cross the table and take the majority of the man’s chips, Jeno looks up and notices thin circles of black dried residues around her nostrils. Tenebres. The woman’s high on drugs. Jeno’s not surprised. Half of the other patrons must be too, and he doesn’t doubt that if he has a trip to the toilets, he’ll find people sniffing from little flasks filled with black liquid. They’re probably pairing with excipients, various mixtures which, paired with Tenebres, changes its usual stimulant effect. With them, you can replicate basically any state of mind. The most common ones used in playhouses are Confidence, Intelligence --boosting up the neural connections-- and Calmness. The people who inhale it are not exactly discreet, but it’s still less obvious than when the drug had to be injected through syringes.

The casino is running wild tonight with all the people inside. The seductive croupiers are doing an excellent job at holding the patrons on their seats, just like the fake players, hired by Hyuna to steer the customers to stay with fake bets, fake laughs and fake wins. The legit patrons win, they take pride, greed and arrogance blind them, they play and gush, play and play, play and... lose.

It's not unusual to see a bouncer throwing an overwhelmed, usually very agitated, patron who can't pay off their debts, out of the casino and deal them a punch in the corner of the street. Except the patrons don't pay attention to that, disoriented by the lights, the flickers of cards, the smoke of cigarettes, the alcohol, and Tenebres. It's supposed to be a legit and legal casino, but who are the Dragonnards kidding? They simply keep everyone's attention elsewhere, somewhere where they don't see the hidden business of the casino, or the simple reality of their failure.

Jeno affords a glance at the majestic staircase at the rear of the room. Two gorgeous women appear from it, framed by two others dressed in all black suits, contrasting with their shiny and colorful clothes. The ones in black are Hyuna’s bodyguards, escorting them to the exit. Protection of the collaborators policy, of course. The women’s necks are flooded with diamonds, just like their ears, fingers and wrists are. It would be way too much, if it wasn’t to display illusory wealth too, garnishing oneself of jewels that can’t be authenticated —everyone’s too drunk.

It's common knowledge that Hyuna is as smart as she's untrustworthy, but looking at the cockiness the two women display, it's obvious they believe they tricked the trickster. They look down on the other patrons, because they, they know how to play. They, they know how to place their money, how to read their opponent and how to negotiate a deal, unlike those idiots getting drunk and high.

Jeno could bet his bottom dollar that they invested all of their little fortunes in Hyuna's deal, believing they just outwitted the sly fox of Brume, the one who steals fortunes and brings families bankrupt in a simple signature. The two women will probably spend the rest of the night gushing about how they outsmarted her without realizing that in this game, they played the fools and Hyuna remains the Queen.

They leave the casino with the bodyguards, it's his chance. Jeno loses on purpose and leaves the table, exchanging a few jokes with the woman next to him —she's winning, and radiant about it. None of the other patrons, either sitting on tables or wandering around machines, pay attention to him as he skims through them to reach the staircases.

Doyoung, invisible, follows him. The _Spectre_ is a safety net. If Jeno isn’t able to complete his mission, whether it’s because he’s harmed, or dead, or because the _Ombre_ has taken over, Doyoung will. If nothing happens, he will keep a simple but useful lookout. 

The ascension of the stairs feels like falling into a trap. Fear weighs down Jeno’s every step and as he approaches, questions overrun his mind. What would Moon think of him right now? Is he even capable of killing Hyuna? What about the two others? What will be left of him in the morning?

The corridor is deserted, and the door couldn’t be more imposing, in its mahogany glory. He takes a deep breath and opens the door. 

Luxury and slyness reveal themselves in abundance to Jeno as he steps into the office. The room is huge and neatly ordered, big libraries containing binders upon binders, and files upon files, precisely organized. There’s a big chandelier making everything in the room shine with gold, and a large deep red carpet lays on the ground. And on Jeno’s right, the desk. 

Hyuna is beautiful. Dark curls frame her face with delicacy, her lips are enhanced by a deep and reddish purple, and the thin glasses she wears don’t wash out in the slightest the glint of intelligence in her eyes as she lifts them to glare at the person who’s entered her office, uninvited. 

Neither of them speak up. Hyuna doesn’t scream or yelp as Jeno locks the door, and he doesn’t say anything as he approaches the desk. She simply puts down the pen she was reviewing papers with next to stacks of bills and stands up, her hands gloved with thin black lace lingering on the marble of her desk.

“Lee Jeno.” She states, facing him and leaning on her desk.

“You know me?”

“Of course I do.” She chuckles. It sounds creepily genuine. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice a boy messing with our business? You may be an _Ombre_ but my men and I are perceptive.”

Jeno wants to ask what else she knows about him but refrains himself from asking. Dead, Hyuna won’t be able to spread information about him.

“So what do you want from me, huh? Money? Secrets?”

Jeno shakes his head. “None of that.”

“Of course not.” She huffs and smiles.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“You need to know your prey to trap them,” she answers innocently. Behind her careless expression, she sounds him out with her piercing eyes. Jeno can tell she’s planning every possible outcome of their encounter. 

“What do I want then?”

“You’d love to throw me and the others in jail.” True. “But since we’ve killed your precious allies, there’s nothing you can do. So, you’ve come to kill me.”

Jeno nods, and pulls out a dagger.

“Clever.”

A gun would have been simpler and quicker, but louder, and he can’t afford bodyguards Doyoung would kill before they set a hand on the doorknob.

“I’ve been told...” Tilting her head, her smile widens. “Jung controls the whole city, you know that right? Not just outside the walls, the whole city. This means that if a drop of my blood spills, Jung will kill you before the sunrise.”

Hyuna looks unfazed by the dagger in his hand, but he sees past her relaxed attitude. He can distinctly hear, thanks to his acute hearing, her heart beating frantically. He takes a deep breath and moves forward.

“Not if I kill him first.”

She roars with laughter. “And what now? You’re playing all broody? Please, you’re just a kid, Jung eats you for breakfast. What do you think you’re doing? Playing the hero? We’ve infested Brume, like a parasite, we’ve weakened it while we got stronger. Now, we’re the masters, those businessmen are my bitches and the police will do nothing to protect you.”

“That’s why I need you gone, so the people can leave freely. You can’t corrupt Brume anymore. I won’t let you suck the life out of this city as you did for so many years.”

“But kid, didn’t you see? Haven’t you played? Haven’t you drank? No one is forced to be here. I’m not stealing their money out of their pocket, they come in and pour it on my table. And no one make them fuck our whores, or hire a hitman or take a goddamn shot of Tenebres. It’s not a matter of gang, it’s a matter of power. The people want it so desperately they simply knock on our doors, believing in the illusions we serve them. Boy, don’t die for an useless cause. Leave this behind you, you already got too many people murdered. Every move you make is a risk you run, and, don’t be fooled, it only takes one to get caught.”

They’re facing each other by now, only a step away. Jeno’s walk was distressingly slow, but unwavering. Hyuna’s heartbeat had calmed down, and she shows him a shameless, triumphant, smirk. 

“You’re right…” Jeno trails off, looking at all the files and names, thinking about the two women from earlier. They were nothing but happy to close their deal. “And yet, you won’t cross this door again.”

It happens too quickly. Even if, at the moment Jeno opens his mouth, Hyuna reaches for the paper-knife on her desk, she’s too slow. She doesn’t see his arm move, doesn’t see the blade coming.

A dash of blood. Red arch in the air, for a second. 

Burning, burning on her throat. Hyuna hiccups. Blood gushes. She puts a shaking hand on the open, warm, wound, her eyebrows arched in a painful surprise. She falls on her knees.

Jeno had taken a step back to avoid the stash. He knows too damn well how wicked the woman collapsing in front of him is. In his mind play all the memories of his family thrown into the streets by crushing debts and dishonest deals, and the tears of his mother, and the piercing hunger in his stomach he felt everyday, yet, he can’t repress the wave of pity crashing on him. No matter how much of a monster Hyuna was, death can only be humane.

Her eyes are still confused when they close. 

Jeno goes down the stairs. 

///

Doyoung and Jeno sink deeper into the city, both invisible in their own way. A _Spectre_ and an _Ombre_ , a ghost and a shadow, covered by the night. Throughout the years, Jeno learned how to sense Doyoung’s presence. 

The streets leading to the former prison are filthy and deserted. The street lights are twitching, when they’re working, many broken windows were never repaired, and a smell of dumpster soaks the air. 

They walk along the grey and dirty walls of the prison, watched by the gargoyles and other monstrous statues armed with barbed wires. The sign above the two long fangs framing the portal would spell out “Balancourt Penitentiary” if it wasn’t for the rot that had eaten the letters. Right under, the engraving “Propitius esto mortem” had resisted the passage of time and the lack of maintenance. Merciful death. A prisoner would enter, crooked, wicked, and wrong, and the prison would devour the dark part of their soul, killing what they used to be and offering them a rebirth. It takes a monster to kill a monster, Death had taught them, and the inhabitants of Landres always take things a tad too literally.

They skirt the front wall. There’s a small, unguarded door that will lead Jeno right to Hui. When he gets to it, he picks its very simple lock with a hair pin —for the lack of his own lockpicks. His _Ombre_ vision allowing him to see even in the total darkness, the door opens in a click in a matter of seconds.

Infiltrating a former prison turned into gang’s quarters abounding with Dragonnards is actually easier than it sounds. Even if there are dozens of both actual Dragonnards, and trainees, Jeno doesn’t encounter any difficulties spotting them before slipping into shadows, avoiding their gaze, or simply passing behind them, silent.

The trainees are nervous, keeping their watch diligently, while the Dragonnards there are playing cards, drinking wine, taking Tenebres, or being already high on it. The Dragonnards don’t fear Hui, not anymore for the youngest of them, while the trainees are still terrified he’d catch them slacking off. 

The trainees used to be children of the streets, sleeping under bridges, or in orphanages if they were lucky, before being taken by the gang, some because they knew how to throw fists, some because they were smarter than the others, and some because they showed early signs of powers. Some others even came to the gang by themselves.

Jung wasn’t tender to any of them. He didn’t treat them as children or teenagers, and merely with the decency expected to other human beings. They were weapons he’d asked Hui to sharpen. Forced to endure the harsh training and the blood dirtying their hands, their youth had been taken away from them. And, like an insidious evil spirit, Hui made them believe he was doing them a favor, that his hard deprecating words and severe punishments were gifts and the lies and the manipulation were blessings in disguise. They felt like they owed the Dragon and Hui their lives, their hands handcuffed by debt, blades in their palms like millstones. Thinking about it, it’s obvious that Jeno would have ended up here without Doyoung taking him from the orphanage, with the burn of the Dragon on his forearm and the _Ombre_ roaming free.

After bypassing cells now used as bedrooms —even if it’s hard pinpointing what changed from that time— they cross a small yard, where stands an imposing statue of a black cat at the center, its horns blooming with the moonlight. The symbol of the god Death seems to stare at Jeno with its big eyes. Jeno rushes his way out of the yard.

One last flight of stairs to go down through, and Jeno will get to Hui’s personal quarters. Jeno’s heart pounds in his chest and his eyes travel to every corner. He’s scared when he should be confident, but all he can think of is Hyuna’s open neck and how much blood there’s left to be poured.

His heart skips a beat when, hidden in the shadow of the staircase, he faces the door. Muffled sounds coming from behind, light under the step, and, two Dragonnars, guarding the door. A girl and a boy. They’re young, fifteen or sixteen, at most. The dragon winds around their forearms like poison, the scar of their burn looks already healed and old. They haven’t noticed him —yet.

There’s not a million different possible outcomes from their encounter. It’s either one of them spots him, and warns Hui, ruining his surprise effect and alerting all of the prison, either Jeno neutralizes them soundlessly. He draws two of his knives.

One slash. Two slashes.

It’s over before they can’t see their death coming. Jeno had moved fast. Their bodies make a thump when they fall onto the ground. Jeno ignores the pang of guilt, and gurgles as blood flows from their throats, and doesn’t break his momentum, slamming the door open.

Hui isn’t alone. He’s holding a punching bag, staring at the girl kicking it. Both startle at Jeno’s entrance, they flip to look at the intruder. Jeno throws his blades. Hui leaps away from its trajectory, the knife still diving into the flesh of his left arm. The girl, her, isn’t so quick. The blade thrusts ruthlessly into her heart. Jeno’s aimed right.

Her skin is wet from sweat, her long hair gathered into a ponytail stick to her forehead and her black suit doesn’t hide her powerful muscles. She’s been practicing for a long time under Hui’s supervision. Maybe that’s why she looks so incredulous when she dies. Maybe she’d expected to have the time of a fight before death takes her. 

Jeno’s eyes fly to Hui. He has the time to notice how his jaws contract and his eyes squinting in amusement before he takes the blade from his shoulder, without flinching, and throws himself at Jeno.

Jeno catches Hui’s fist, avoiding a stab through his chest.

“I thought my message was pretty clear.” Hui rumbles.

“I’m not scared of you.”

The tension between their fists is almost unbearable, threatening to break at any moment. The blade is shining. It could get both of them. 

“You should.”

The tension breaks. At the same moment, Jeno sweeps Hui’s legs with his foot and Hui throws his free fist at Jeno’s face. Both hit. Hui crashes on the ground, only giving his punch more strength. It strikes Jeno’s cheekbone full force.

He doesn’t have the time to feel the pain that Hui is already up again and throwing a punch at him. Jeno dodges it and replicates. His knuckles split Hui’s lips. He grunts before throwing a kick right on Jeno’s chest, sending him through the room to slam his back against a cupboard. The glass shatters and falls with him. 

“How did you know about this place?” Hui spits blood, walking toward him. He looks bigger and more intimidating than a second before, the red of his wound contrasting with the storm of dark blue-grey his eyes are.

“Network.”

Hui huffs. “Network…”

When Hui’s close enough to pierce the knife through his throat in one sharp movement, Jeno pulls out the gun and shoots.

The bullet hits its target. On the left of his stomach, more blood soaks through Hui’s shirt. Yet, he’s not surprised, barely flinches. Instead, he snactches Jeno’s wrist and wrings it, sending the gun in the air. He drops the knife to catch the other weapon.

Jeno dives before he can shoot, and tackles Hui to the ground, pressing his fist on his open wound. Jeno, finding himself on top of him, encircles his throat with his left hand before he can move, and with his right one he wrestles to get the gun. He twists a finger. The bone breaks. The gun is his.

He could kill Hui like that. A hand on his throat, holding all the assets with him.

This thought dies not two seconds later, when Hui sends Jeno to fly in the air by kicking his hip with his two feet.

His head hits the ground first. There’s a brief pause, a second when Jeno turns for his chest to meet the floor, a second when a breathless and covered with blood Hui turns around, a second when their stares meet, studying each other —before it breaks.

They crawl to each other with frenzy, scraping the floor with their anger. Quickly enough, they’re at each other’s throats, and if their fight had somewhat of a consistency and grace, on the ground like animals, all of their complex training melt into savage instincts. Hui throws himself at Jeno, above him, he showers him with blows as Jeno lacerates his torso with his blades. When he finds himself disarmed by Hui’s grip, enraged, he uses his nails. He realizes his situation is not viable for long enough. He has to get out of Hui’s suffocating weight.

By a prodigious use of strength, Jeno twists his torso and throws off the balance, winning advantage. Bruises are appearing on Hui’s throat and his silk dark blue shirt has turned black with his blood. Jeno’s head hurts, his cheekbone is throbbing, but mostly, he’s angry. Angry at himself, for not having killed Hui yet, and angry at his target for winning despite all of his deadly injuries. All the rage pours in his fists, dark and sly. Jeno shouldn’t listen to it, shouldn’t trust it.

He could choke Hui to death by using his knees to block Hui’s arms, but it’d mean taking it slow. It’s risky, Hui could overturn the situation, or the _Ombre_ could get out, appealed by the blood.

He takes the risk to let go of his hold on Hui’s arm to get one of his knives —like a fool. Hui takes the fleeting second of release and raises his chest. When Jeno grabs the handle of his knife, teeth sink into his skin, pierce his skin and tear his flesh. He hiccups of horror. Hui’s furiously biting him right above his collarbone. His brutality chokes Jeno. He growls. Jeno moans, the pain radiates as he senses his blood bathing Hui’s mouth. 

Jeno swallows, not wasting a single second. He still has a blade in his hand. With his free one, he takes Hui by his hair, and, without any hesitation, forcibly pulls him off his bite. Jeno yells as Hui, knocked backward, rips off a tiny shed of his skin, a shower of red dripping on his face.

Ignoring the pain, his knife flies to Hui’s throat, only for the metal to apply on it, almost softly. A scarlet pearl glides on the blade when Jeno realizes that the man in front of him, mouth and chin covered with his blood, is almost unconscious.

He looks at Jeno though, his pupils dilated by fear. He stops breathing, and, for the time of an illusion, he seems more human, less animal, less dangerous.

“Kill me now.” He croaks out, but his voice still rolls like thunder. “You don’t wanna keep me alive.” 

Jeno believes him.

_Don’t kill him now. Make him beg for his death. Make him taste his own blood. Rip him off of everything that ties him to life, slowly, one by one. Destroy him first, then, end him._

Jeno is afraid.

And, for his second of terror, Hui catches his wrist —again.

The _Ombre_ reacts quickly. Quicker than Jeno, and too quick for Hui to make any other movement. It breaks Hui’s wrist. It stands up, pulling Hui up with it by his broken bone, the tip of his feet scraping the floor. 

Jeno comes back to himself, Hui like a rag doll in his hand. The next step is easy and simple. Fighting the small resistance Hui opposes, Jeno places his back against his chest and slips his arm around his throat, Hui’s chin is blocked in the hollow of Jeno’s elbow. And Jeno _grips_. Stronger than when first strangled him, he clenches, contracting every muscle of his arms.

Looking at the liters of blood spread on the ground, Hui should be dead by now, not struggling to get off Jeno’s clench. Jeno blames the adrenaline, but it’s not like he minds Hui’s kick in his ankles, or his fist hitting his arm. Anesthetized, out of his body, he fights the _Ombre_ to stay in control. With a painful slowness, it backs away, roaring, but still imprisoned in the cage of Jeno’s will. Numb, the only thing Jeno senses is the pulse of Hui, hot, resonating in his own body —weakening.

Ruthless, Jeno finds himself clenching harder. Hui gasps for air that won’t come, and his struggle lessens in intensity. He must be horrible to look at, blue veins popping, eyes bulging, teeth smeared with blood. But Jeno’s mind is cold and he tightens even more his grasp at every whistle that escapes Hui’s dying body, waiting for the heart to finally shut down.

When Doyoung comes in, Jeno is holding on a corpse. He snaps back to reality as the _Spectre_ places a hand on his shoulder, his eyes examining his open wound. Jeno breathes in, and lets the body fall to the ground in a heavy noise. Leaving, they step over the three other corpses. He suppresses a retching. They were still innocent.

///

Jeno walks fast, his body relaxing in the movement. Taking the time to stop the bleeding and bandage Jeno’s wound put them late. Not that people here would stare. If he covers himself with his leather jacket, apart from the bruise on his cheekbone, he looks normal. He hurries, walking through the dirty streets, passing by people laying on the ground, sleeping or too high to move, diving deeper into the Dragon’s den.

He observes through his _Ombre_ vision —because in this part of town, streetlights are as rare as safe russian roulettes— the familiar front windows made of worn-out wood. Here, even during daylight, shops aren’t animated by the chatting between sellers and customers, nor by the sound of god exchanging hands or ruffles of paper bills being counted. People here are too poor to buy what they need, the most of the activities happen in the back-shops, where the conspiracies and dirty business are hidden from glances too curious. Jeno’s aware of it, having arrested some minor Dragonnards and other gang members in this kind of situation.

Power buzzes his body and mind, intertwined with the fear that makes him spiral in flashes of Hyuna’s open throat and Hui’s blue veins and red eyes. The blood of the Dragonnards. Everywhere. Red, hot, and thick. He sees the next fight. The next bullet, and the next slashes of blade. The next promised death.

The energy discharges, running on his spine, flowing in his lips, agitating the tip of his finger. The adrenaline hasn’t left his blood, tensing him and twisting his guts. Disgustingly, he looks forward to meeting Dawn. Just to unleash his power. 

His stomach curls in horror at this mere thought. In this second, He can't differentiate the _Ombre_ from himself. The murderous rushes are getting stronger, more sudden, and more uncontrollable as the night grows darker. He doesn’t only tremble from the adrenaline. 

“Be careful,” he murmurs to himself, his hand gripping on the handle of a knife, seeking for comfort. 

The Plaisir Rouge brothel is hard to miss, its red flashy neons flicker and light the whole street that should have stayed plunged in the black of the night otherwise. Men and women stand outside the porch, smoking cigarettes, waiting for their appointments, lurking through the shutters’ interstices deliberately left —both for the sake of exhibitionism, and voyeurism kinks. Jeno ignores them as much as he doesn’t draw their attention. He’s just another anonymous boy entering the opulent building.

The immense room disorients him as soon as he steps in. From everything he’d expected, he wasn’t prepared to face the gigantic reversed staircase dominating the room. Upside down, intoxicating smell of monoi, mirrors, gold, red, softened light, music playing with deep basses ingenuously covering loud mobs from elsewhere, pale rose silk curtains gracefully drawing the contours of the space. Shadows dancing, shadows whispering and shadows seducing. Lights play on Jeno’s skin, moving and changing between red and gold.

He nibbles his inferior lip out of awkwardness and his eyes flutter everywhere, afraid to lay anywhere. Prostitutes go up and down the stairs —or down and up, the mirrors confuse him— their skin shining with glitter, only covered with jewels curling around their throats, clavicles, chest and thighs, and transparent veils. They’re all different and unique, desirable, and tantalizing. Lust creeps in the customers’ intruding stare. They never wait for too long for a body to possess. 

“The stairs.” Doyoung whispers in Jeno’s ear, putting the boy lost in the overwhelming perceptions back on track. 

Right. Jeno walks and grasps the stairs’ guardrail to keep somewhat of a landmark in the misleading building. Only one left, and Triple H will be gone forever. He'll find Dawn alone in his apartments and with a quick bullet at the back of the head, it’s going to be over.

It’s going to be over soon.

Every step he climbs disconcerts him more than the precedent. The mirrors all around him —up, down, aside— the lamps hung outside down and the way the stairs are colored and turned around, everything is made to lose the client and cut them from reality. Trapped in an illusion, Jeno dives down, down, down in the entrails of a monster.

He’s stopped by the invisible hand of Doyoung taking his wrist.

“Taeyong just texted me. Assassins are running the streets looking for you. Jung must know two of his seconds were murdered but there’s still a chance Dawn hasn’t been filled in yet. Find him and lock yourselves up. I’ll keep watch.”

“Taeyong?”

“He’s fine and safe at home.”

Slightly relieved, Jeno nods and keeps walking. He looks for the special floor, the one where the richest customers go, that has the filthiest treasures and fantasies —everything lust can desire— where he knows Dawn flutters around, making sure customers are satisfied. 

Not a prostitute himself —even though the city murmurs he used to be the most in demand of them all— being a _Crystallizor_ allows him certain tricks to relax people and bring them pleasure and satisfaction. He’s the master of the brothels in Brume, and runs them with an iron fist devoid of the caress of a velvet glove.

Once Jeno’s reached the floor, the pimp is easy to spot. Stepping out of a room, Dawn is astonishing, breathtaking, and literally brilliant. His blonde hair crowns him, cascading in soft curls around his sharp cheekbones that shine of silver sparkle, and, his full, daring, lips are glossed of a light alluring pink.

But, obviously, what gets Jeno’s attention first is his diamond suit. Made of tiny glittering stones set together, the pants and the vest catches every light. His pants are loose at his ankles, but more tightened up on his waist and crotch, and the vest hides nothing of his bare skin, Dawn’s chest glistening with what is probably monoi perfumed lotion. He’s at the imagine of his brothel: hallucinatory. 

He hasn’t seen Jeno yet. It’s gonna be easy, even if you don’t become the Dragon’s second without throwing any punch, Dawn is not a fighter. He probably knows basic moves, but it’s way less than enough to put Jeno at risk. Yet, worry surges.

That’s it. Dawn has noticed him. 

“Good evening young man.” His voice is charming as he approaches. “I’m sorry to tell you you’re probably not in the right place, the rooms downstairs will suit you well enough. Let me escort you.” He lays a hand on Jeno’s forearm, inviting him to follow him down —or up— the stairs. 

It’s Jeno’s plan, so he pulls out his most insolent smile, retracts from the touch, takes big bills out of his pockets, and waves them under Dawn’s nose.

“I think I’d like to discover the pleasures of this floor though,” he whispers cheekily, “I’ve come to get bored of what I’m used to enjoying.”

Dawn lets out a ravished giggle as he hastens to take the bills to wedge them between his waist and his pants. He claps his hands out of excitement before taking Jeno with him in the floor’s hallway.

“Follow me then! I’m sure I’ll find ways to give you what you wish for.” Dawn takes his arm again. “First things first, young man. What’s your name?”

“Jeno.”

“Very well, Jeno!” He slips his arm from Jeno’s forearm to wrap his hips. “I need you to trust me, to share with me all of your dirty little secrets, to tell me what bores you but mostly what makes you feel alive and what makes you shiver,” the dazzling _Crystallizor_ is now whispering in Jeno’s ear, exactly sending the shivers he’s talking about down his spine, “what makes you whine and beg, what makes you hard and what runs you mad, what shakes your thighs, what makes you cum in your pants, and what makes you scream like a virgin.”

Jeno gulps hardly. Images flash in his mind as Dawn’s fingers dance on his waist with a false innocence.

With his free hand, Dawn opens the door of an empty room. The lightning in there is red, taking the room out of reality, where colors don’t exist and shapes are transformed. Dawn’s face looks sharper, and his smile meaner. Even the large window of tinted glass doesn’t open the room to the real world, only showing the pitch black sky. Otherwise, the only thing approximately normal is the bed, presiding at the center with its sheets of silk. Jeno tries not to dwell on the series of toys all weirder than the other —even if he does notice what looks like a leather harness— and reports his attention on the painting taking an entire wall. The dragon is hard to miss, its thin black lines all in curves, claws and fangs. 

Dawn closes the door, allowing his fingers to linger on Jeno’s waist before moving to a coffee table to take a bottle of wine and two glasses. Jeno follows his steps and glances at the velvety chairs, only to see —oh, gods— the handcuffs attached to the armrests. At the peak of his awkwardness, he sends Dawn a smile he wishes to be charming.

“The different protections are right there.” Dawn points with his chin a chest of drawers as he fills up the glasses with a bubbly liquid. “There’s other stuff in there, you can check out by yourself later. Now, tell me, what would you fancy? Men? Women? Both? How many?”

Hot waves propagate already in Jeno’s body, from his lower abdomen to his thighs, to his chest, to his toes, to his fingers… It’s all the _Crystallizor’s_ doing and if he didn’t feel this uneasy, he’d be angry at Dawn for using his power on him so shamelessly.

“Both. Why would I limit myself ?”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Dawn answers with a wicked grin. It makes sense, rumors say there used to be something between the Triple H, a sort of polyamorous relationship Jung broke off for his own interests. “Do you have something you want to try tonight? A specific person you want to be reminded of? I have a very diverse panel to offer you.”

Images he sees late at night come back to his mind like a torrent with the idea of a certain magician. A tremendous amount of embarrassment smashes onto him as he brutally stops his imagination, and he’s so, so, grateful that the red lighting conceals his blush.

“I don’t have anything in particular in mind.”

“Well then, it’s not a problem, just tell me about your liking.”

Handing him the glass of wine, Dawn had moved closer to him, the smell of monoi intoxicating, and Jeno couldn’t help but watch his lips moving. He takes a sip to suppress his sigh of pleasure. In another context, the power of the _Crystallizor_ would have been godsent.

There’s a silence. A silence when Jeno’s eyes caress Dawn’s bare chest and when the _Crystallizor_ stares at Jeno’s lips, eyes dark with desire, as this one licks them. A silence comes, when Jeno’s tempted to listen to buzz in his lower abdomen, and when Dawn’s doesn’t look so eager to walk out the door to send one of his prostitutes.

“I like a lot of things,” Jeno whispers, his voice low and a bit hoarse. 

“Dirty talk? Choking? Drugs? Bondage? Knife play? You have to be more specific, if not, they’ll have to try everything.” 

“Knife play, you could say that, I guess… Dawn, I like when I’m so pleased my vision’s blurry, my mind whirls, losing me and forbidding me to form more than this one two-words sentence.”

“And what is it?” Dawn comes closer and it’s only now that Jeno realizes their indecent proximity. He could easily forget all of this hellish night and join their lips.

“Again, please.”

The murmur dilates Dawn’s pupils. It’s suddenly hot, very hot around them. Only the sound of their breathing fills the room, far away from the music, screams and moans down there. Dawn gently sets his hand on Jeno’s cheek and Jeno’s breath hardens, slowly, oh so slowly, Dawn leans on, cruelly taking his time before his lips touch Jeno’s, before… 

The dagger flies to cut a deep wound on Dawn’s wrist.

The glasses shatter, pouring burgundy on the parquet.

The pimp leaps, panicked, yet surprisingly quick. His eyes open wide, much like a terrified doe, as the red light reflects on the gloss of his ajar mouth, color of danger. There’s a word that dies on his tongue, and he’s convinced Dawn finally realized Jeno’s the _Ombre_ the Dragonnards had been whispering about. He moves backward, coming closer to their door, small step by small step, as he pleads.

“Please don’t kill me! Please! I’m so sorry I’ll do everything you want but please don’t kill me!”

Jeno ignores how utterly horrified he sounds and approaches, dagger first. Dawn falls on his knees and he ties his hand to beg for mercy. The blood dripped on his wrist to his arm.

“Don’t hurt me! I’m sorry I know I deserve it but _please_! I know you’re better than that. I can—” His voice breaks and tears wet his shiny eyes. They drop on his cheeks in no time and Jeno wonders how someone so pitiful could have become the Dragon’s second. “I can become better! I promise! Please!”

Dawn’s there, crying, shaking and begging on his knees, while Jeno stands, so ominous but the dagger feels heavy and strange in his hand. Pathetic in his now ridiculous so glimmering suit, Dawn looks like a terrified infant, shriveled against the floor. Jeno wonders how he can do that —how, and by what right, does he reduce a man to _this_? The power over life and death is crushing. Forget the _Ombre_ , Jeno himself is a monster. 

He wants to abandon everything, drop the weapon and forgive Dawn, take him in his arms and console him.

“I’m sorry.” His voice breaks as he, nevertheless, raises his fist above Dawn’s last supplicating expression.

Before everything shifts. The red is darker, the blade is sharper, and a beast growls. Dawn’s changed, he no longer looks like a lost prey, but like an infuriating little piece of shit. He stands up without any difficulty, faces Jeno, and pushes him on the chest, daring him to come for him. 

“Come on pretty boy, kill me.” he taunts, looking down on Jeno, and, if the boy wasn’t so inexplicably _angry_ , he would have been rendered speechless by confusion.

“Oh, believe me I’m gonna.” He grunts, surprising himself. 

Dawn wears arrogance on his smirk and doesn’t back down, staring at Jeno as if he wasn’t begging for mercy five seconds earlier. It drives Jeno insane. It makes him want to destroy his pretty feature, bruise his perfect skin, cut to the blood his lips and darken his foxy eyes with shiners. Dawn is still talking, but anger is a buzz deafening Jeno. He doesn’t hear his filthy venom. His whole body is tensed with electricity, hardly contained violence and —on gods— if only Dawn could just shut up!

There are only two reasons preventing Jeno from killing him on the spot. First, carried away by his madness, he’d give Dawn an easy time to escape. He wouldn’t be able to control himself and his movements would be messy. Second, his hands are trembling with the frenzy of the _Ombre_. The demon is close, and the demon is thriving, facing a prey, out of the reality, at Jeno’s last limits.

“That’s what I thought… You’re too scared to lay a finger on me.” Dawn even has the audacity to look at his manicure, as if he was bored.

Jeno snaps out of it. Blade first, he throws himself on Dawn. Bad call. The _Crystallizor_ avoids him easily, out of target and out of balance Jeno trips and falls on the ground. Getting up, he rushes to Dawn again, his jaws so clenched it hurts and his blade pulsating in his fist. He misses. It’s like all his skills have dissolved into the anger. Reckless, and ashamed of his fall, he attacks yet another time, not missing a beat.

Dawn deals him a brutal hit on the back of the neck, sending him to crash on the ground. He’s starting to tire out, having thrown all of his energy into failed attempts. Yet, he stands up and aims for Dawn’s throat, and when this one tries to grab him by the hair, probably to throw him on the floor, he dives and avoids him. This time, he hits, and the blade cuts Dawn right next to his heart. It’s superficial, but he gasps of shock. Jeno doesn’t waste a second and throws himself on him.

By a kick on the chest, Dawn turns Jeno’s strength against him for the third time already, sending him to the floor. Jeno’s back meets the ground so abruptly it takes his breath away for a second, and, before he can get up, something shifts, and he’s squashed by a sudden and overwhelming panic.

Dawn’s changed his strategy. He’s bigger. His aura is much more threatening, his wounds are promises of revenge, and his smile is one of death. _It’s not real._ Jeno tries to convince himself. _It’s not real. It’s not real._ It doesn’t work. Dawn is not more powerful, or better armed than he was a moment ago, yet, Jeno is _terrified_.

His breath quickens. His chest is heavy. A lump has fallen in his throat. He would stand up, if he could, if he didn’t feel like a doe parayzed under the headlights of a roaring car. Dawn’s shadow walks toward him. The fear becomes more urgent. Jeno desperately wants to escape. With this back still on the ground, he crawls the fastest he can until the bed stops him. He looks just like Dawn a few minutes earlier: an afraid prey, except, this time, the predator doesn’t show any mercy. Even the _Ombre_ had turned strangely silent. _He’s going to slaughter me. With all the toys in the room, he’s going to play with me. He’ll torture me and have fun with my dead body. I’m going to die._

_I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die._

Dawn hovers over him, his pretty glossed lips cracked in a cruel smile. His diamonds are stained with blood, black in the red light. Jeno scans the room in a desperate attempt to find a way-out. Looking over his shoulder, he considers the height of the floor. Fifth or sixth. Maybe he can fall from the window and get away with only broken bones, or at least a fast death. But he can’t, Dawn, with his sole presence, overwhelms him, blinds him. Jeno’s whole body is shaking.

“You just weren’t enough, young _Ombre_. Like many before you.”

The red light strokes Dawn’s cheekbone when he takes the gun from his back. He points it at Jeno, his index slides on the trigger, his hold is firm; determination shining in his eyes.

Jeno’s trapped.

Dawn’s pleased.

But it shifts.

Driven by panic, Jeno launches himself at the pimp. The gun fires, but the bullet misses him. He’s moved too fast. He crashes into him head-on. Their bodies roll on the floor, hitting every corner of their skin. It’s already painful. Jeno ends up being on top of Dawn, and, when their eyes meet, all the pressure of fear evaporates. The _Ombre_ comes back, more powerful and unhinged than it ever was.

Disconcerted, the _Crystallizor_ stopped using his power, but it doesn’t make Jeno feel any less, furious, afraid, or even less appealed by him. Quite the opposite, actually. Like a bolt of lightning that would have hit him, a mad frenzy elates his body. It vibrates in him, so dark, so intense, that he can’t distinguish if it comes from himself or the _Ombre_ , and at this point, he doesn’t even care anymore.

He doesn’t care anymore because Dawn is at his mercy, and right now, there’s only the confused, but bloody and murderoous urges he listens to.

His skin is electric, his breath ectic, his jaws so clenched he can’t sense them anymore, and his pupils wide open —black.

For the first time in a long series, his dagger, fastened at his fist by an invisible bound —hits.

Thrust in flesh. Cold metal against warmth of the body. 

Heavy droplets blood fly in the air, spritzing on his face, hot, thick.

A hiccup shakes Dawn. Jeno is more or less sat on his waist, his legs resting in a weird angle, supporting his weight with one hand on the floor and the other holding the blade. He looks like an exhausted panther, satisfied to finally have trapped his prey, waiting to delight in its flesh. Looking at the soft skin of Dawn’s neck, He wants to bite and rip it out, just like Hui did to his shoulder.

The blade hits a second time, at the same spot.

A hole gaping in Dawn’s chest.

Pain deforms his face, transforming his beautiful features into a horrifying mask. He’s no longer the powerful _Crystallizor_ , no longer the pimp and Jung’s second. He’s suffering and he’s agony.

The blade hits, again, and again, and again, sinking deeper and deeper into the tender organs every time. Like waves of a swelling tempest, the blood submerges the bodies. It splashes on the fantastic suit. The diamonds shine black.

At every slits, Jeno feels better. The violence and savageness of the night unleashes in his power and in his dagger, relieving him. He lashes out on the ribs, taking his weapon with his two hands, he thrusts it in the bones. He’s an _Ombre_ , it’s ridiculously easy. They break in a loud crack that he doesn’t even hear. He doesn’t hear it, as much as he doesn’t hear himself crying, screaming, and laughing. He doesn’t even see what he’s doing. He can only sense.

He tastes the blood in his mouth. He doesn’t mind it, in fact, he likes it. He smells its metallic odor and he smells the intoxicating monoi like it’s the delightful perfume of a loved one. He senses his muscles contracting at every hit and he senses Dawn’s body under him, slowly dying. Mostly, he feels alive. A part of him never felt more awake, never more thrilled, now that he’s so close to death —on top of it, actually. He feels the emotions boiling in him, the madness telling him to strike again, and again, to never ever stop. It’s messy, destructive, horrific. It’s perfect.

Like a cascade batters, the emotions pour in Dawn’s carved up body, fatal and ruthless. They intoxicate Jeno and suffocate his reason. He drowns in violence, entranced.

The whole rib cage yields in a deafening snap.

It’s a carnage.

Two strong arms grip Jeno on his shoulders, sending him to tumble to the ground and stopping him from disfiguring Dawn. When he looks who did that, ready to murder the person, he faces Doyoung above him, looking at him with an undecipherable expression. Panting, his head dizzy, he could pass out at any moment.

“What happened?” Doyoung whispers, shocked.

Jeno can’t answer. He looks everywhere in the room, trying to find explanations or trace what went on, shaking. His eyes land on his hands and he doesn’t see the fingers covered with blood he should. Horror submerges him. The knife drops. He screams when he understands the black claws are the _Ombre’s_ , are _his_.

Shaken by hiccups, he lifts himself up to crawl in Doyoung’s arms who sits on the floor to take him in. He hides in Doyoung, coming back to the awful reality as the _Ombre_ finally steps back.

The tears are mixed with blood and dirty Doyoung’s suit. Not that he cares, he’s simply planning a new way out of the brothel. He has to clean the bloodbath, hide Dawn’s body, steal clothes from patrons for Jeno, wash his face and take a discreet exit. His hand covers the back of Jeno’s head, strokes him softly while his other arm wraps him by the waist. He holds on Jeno tightly, trying to calm his quakes. _What have you done?_ Doyoung wants to ask. _Finally!_ His mind screams.

///

Brume is weird around Jeno. Where he used to be at peace, he’s now a stranger. The city moves and revolves and turns upside down and flows and never pauses. People don’t notice him, even with knives not so well hidden under the too large clothes Doyoung got him, even with blood stains remaining on his collarbone, even with the bruises and cuts on his face, even the scandalous slowness of his pace for a town so ectic.

Brume is weird around him. Where he knew by heart every complicated interlacing of streets, he’s now lost. He roams, aimless. He doesn’t have the slightest idea of where he is and just yesterday it would have terrified him —that’s why he had so diligently learned the roads of Brume, the ways of the streets as much as the paths of the sky. But he doesn’t care anymore. His look wanders from building to building, from passerby to passerby, he observes people without actually processing the information.

People look bad, like ghosts driven by an unsettling rage that lurks in their eyes. They look sick. Brume looks sick. The pale mist of the early morning is honeyed but leaves a harsh bitterness in Jeno’s mouth. The gray, beige, brown buildings are dirty and too big for their miserable presence. The streets are cold and the lazy wind is freezing, but the bodies are hot, too hot, scorching. Brume is feverish. Jeno doesn’t want to save it anymore. He wonders why he wanted to save it at all.

It’s a good thing the gaping emptiness in his chest numbs him, for it prevents him from breaking down in the middle of the sidewalk. Images of what he did this night doesn’t leave him, like a demon on the back of his neck, and nor does the clutching urge to throw up. He doesn’t have anything worth saving anymore, not the city and not even himself. Yet he still has to end it all, Jung is going to hunt him down, has probably sent people for him already. His mind screams at him to survive and his heart beats to the burning emergency. 

Kill Jung. End the Dragonnards. Kill Jung. End the Dragonnards.

Kill. Again.

///

The lamp explodes, casting a shadow on Jung’s face, but his multiple piercings still shine with the other light. A knot tightens Haechan’s stomach. Seeing his boss in this state of ferocious rage brings out bad memories. And he knows, even though he’d never really been impressed by outbursts of anger, that the Dragon’s ones are never harmless.

At the same time, assassins are running down the streets, slitting throats and piercing bodies. Jung let out all of his anger, accelerating business and schemes of revenge he’d planned for months were thrown out and the bodies simply pushed into the gutter. The night had been in many ways a bloody one, even if Haechan doesn’t know the reason, he understands the gravity of the situation. It’s rare Jung calls him to see him in person.

The girl who’d transferred the information to him is also there, standing next to him. Haechan left the bar in a hurry, adrenaline rushing in his veins and the memories of the cute leather boy fading, replaced by fear. Two other people are waiting with him and Yeji —the girl— for Jung’s anger to dry out, Ryujin and Hansol. Haechan is weirded out by the absence of Triple H. Theys should be there, in the front line, not him and three other kids.

Not that he misses them though. They’d always terrified the shit out of him. Hui’s savage, Dawn, dangerously intoxicating, and you’d never want to speak to Hyuna for too long, fearing you’d reveal your darkest secrets to her by accident, admitting in a crazy huff of pride that she didn’t know them already. He’s always tried to raise his chin when addressing them, despite his fear, and as strange as it sounds, he believes his impertinence saved him; and allowed him to climb the ladder of the Dragonnards, instead of being found dead in a dumpster; like Youngsun.

At first, Haechan only brought money with magic tricks and stealing from the spectators, using his power to cover him. The amounts were small and certainly not enough to repay his debt to Jung. But then, he earned his trust by showing talent and intelligence, but mostly loyalty. He got bigger and bigger jobs and eventually ended up being the _Illusionist_ who hid Jung when he blew up the Velvets’ headquarters.

So yes, keeping the head up in front of the Dragonnards is a question of survival, but right now, with Jung pacing frantically back and forth, his hands threatening to catch anything in the room, Haechan keeps his eyes low. Jung earns his nickname. He’s a beast. His gaze glows of a malicious light, his muscles roll under his clothes, hardened by time and countless fights, and his piercings on his nose, eyebrows, and ears, are alike to scales. The most powerful _Soufre_ of the city, the country, the world, is always followed by a suffocating smell of ashes —the smell of destruction. He’d burn down everything in his way for power, and is nowhere near from being stopped.

Suddenly, Jung stops and faces the four of them. His brutal calm contrasts with the flames dancing in his eyes.

“Tonight, Dawn, Hui and Hyuna were killed. I know who did this. He’s been bothering us for a while but I never paid him much attention before he met Moon. Hui failed to get him killed when I ordered him to. I should have known better. No, the three of them should have known better.” He spits out. It’s clear to everyone he considers his seconds’ deaths as their own mistakes. “I want him down.”

Hansol clears his throat. Jung’s raging stare pierces but, like an idiot, he still goes on. “Who even is he?”

Haechan closes his eyes and clenches his fists, anticipating the explosion and the drips of blood to stain him. But nothing happens. When he opens his eyes, he finds Jung choking Hansol, gripping so hard his joints had turned white. Hansol struggles weakly, probably not knowing if Jung is planning to kill him or not. It’s unclear to Haechan too. Jung lets go nonetheless, sending Hansol to pant on the floor. He scoffs at them.

Haechan takes a better look at the other Dragonnards, his comrades. Ryujin is a new recruit —if “recruit” makes sense when you’re not given a choice— a _Crystallizor_ Hui took from the streets and sent into one of Dawn’s brothels. Hansol, who’s standing up with red marks burning his neck, is both an expert fighter and a _Tireur_ , who never misses his aim. And Yeji doesn’t have any power, but Haechan worked with her before, she’s cunning, smart, ambitious, and what she lacks in supernatural abilities she balances it with a sick punch. He likes them, to be honest.

“Haechannie,” Jung sings, bitter. No matter how much the time has passed, the nickname still hurts. Jung knows it. “I’m sure you have everything figured out already. What do you think the four of you are here for today?”

“We’re the relief.” Haechan answers, fear in the throat. “The new seconds. You want us to take Triple H’s jobs now that they’re dead. Hansol for Hui, Yeji for Hyuna, and Ryujin for Dawn. I’m here because I’m polyvalent and more experienced than them so you want me to be their guide.” The Dragonnards exchange confused glances before Jung nods as a satisfied smirk crooks his lips. This confirmation should feel like an exhilarating rush of power to him, but instead is heavy like handcuffs tightening on Haechan’s wrists. “But before that, you’re giving us the charge to kill the person who murdered Triple H.”

“You’ve always been the smartest.” Jung muses. “The person, as you said, is an _Ombre_ , and you’re going to be the one in charge of him. Just you. Hyuna had almost nothing on him, a picture, a name, but the records stop after he turned thirteen. Find him. Stalk him. I want to know every single detail. Then, bring him to me.”

“Who is he?” Haechan asks with tremors shaking his voice. There’s something he needs to know as quickly as possible. Having pieced out l what he knows of last night, a bad feeling has overwhelmed him, an unsettling foreboding telling him that, this time, it won’t be an easy job.

Jung flies to grab papers on a piece of furniture abruptly. Haechan doesn’t repress his gasp when he catches a glance of what’s on the sheets.

“Lee Jeno. You’ll give me his head.”

Haechan’s stomach sinks into his feet. Dizziness makes his head spin. Right in front of him, Jung’s shoving to his face a picture of the sweet, annoyingly endearing, leather boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Quick description of the part: Jeno offered the smuggler, only person connecting Jung with his drug supplier, Sicheng, money to leave the city , using his hidden daughter as leverage, scaring him almost to death. Then, he met Haechan who comfirmed here he'll be there for their date, before he entered into Hyuna's casino, and killed her in her office. After that, he snucked into an abandonned prison that are Hui's quarters. He had to kill two young Dragonnards and Doyoung killed another one Hui was training. After a ferocious fight, Jeno killed Hui. Finally, Jeno went into Dawn's brothel and after a long, emotional conversational when Dawn manipulated him, and almost killed him, the Ombre took control of Jeno and killed Hui in a very graphic way. Jeno had a breakdown. The last scene depicts Jung, giving to Haechan, who is revealed to be a Dragonnard, the order to track down Jeno and trap him to give him to Jung.]
> 
> Now that you've went through all of his shit, on a scale to 1 to 10, how concerned are you for my mental health?
> 
> Anyway more seriously! This part was so interesting to write and i was super duper excited to dive into Jeno's dark side, the consequences, as you got a glance of, will be heavy and very difficult to deal with for Jeno. Dawn's murder is this scene that I'm probably the proudest of, so I hope you liked it! (I mean, yk, as much as you can like brutal murder).
> 
> And, also ta-dah! Haechan's a Dragonnard :0 He's honestly a character I absolutely adore and I can't wait to show you why, and to reveal you he's story.
> 
> Plus, we got to see the Dragon. Not gonna lie, I find him very very hot. wink wink.
> 
> I would appreciate kudos very much, and any of your thoughts, questions, and opinions, so don't hesitate to leave a comment, or to yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kitty_track) or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/kitty_track)!
> 
> Next part is going to be bigger, and also completely different from this one. Can't wait next Monday. Until then, take care of yourself, thank you a lot for reading.


	3. Part III — Illusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! We're back on ombre thing with a much much softer part than the last week's,,, I really went wild here in terms of nohyuck self-indulgment, so I hope nohyuck nation will be proud of me. Haechan is a character I really adore and I can't wait to unveil more of him, while Jeno is going to try to recover. Anyway! I hope you have a nice reading.

The following days are chaos.

It's like a gaping rift had opened under Haechan’s feet. Hours after hours, panic swallows him, yet he can’t show it. The gang is collapsing. For now, they’re living on the stock of drugs Jung has hidden over the town, but it’s obvious from the new seconds to the simplest henchmen that it won’t last long. They badly need a new connection to Sicheng, the Rechte, and Jung left in a frenzy, right after he gave the new seconds their missions, to reach Rheingen and provide it. 

Without him, the gang is deprived of its head. Yeji, Ryujin and Hansol are shedding blood, sweat, and tears to get the organization working. They act strong and confident, because a weak prey is a dead prey, but they’re driven by despair. The glint of fear in their eyes —the same Haechan would display if he didn’t learn how to conceal everything about him a long time ago— gives them away. 

It’s almost funny, the way Dragonnards hurtle the headquarters down, red and panting, trying to prevent the inevitable fall of the gang, and then act all cocky on the streets. The customers should never know the drug is running out as they’re failing to stop the hemorrhage a young _Ombre_ had provoked so easily. One night. Four cuts.

Oh, they’re trying, but healing a furious and wounded Dragon is no easy task. They chase after their debtors, who are hiding to keep the little gold they have left but to no avail, because even the smallest amount of money matters now. Sometimes they return with full pockets, sometimes with stained blades. It’s almost funny, but Haechan is terrified. How could he not be, with his life tied to the Dragon’s faith?

Yeji set up strategies to spare money while managing the casinos. She pays the employees less and lowered the starting stakes to attract more people —risking to lose the prestige the Esnar had gained over the years. Something Hyuna wouldn’t have done. Ryujin doesn’t have the years of experience Dawn held, but Haechan recognizes a good puppeteer in her. With a bit of luck, and time, she’ll get the hand of how to convincingly seduce politicians, judges, and the army of self-proclaimed respectable people who govern Brume. Hansol works tirelessly, but as great of a fighter he is, he’s not so much of a teacher. Even more, his young age doesn’t intimidate young recruits like the rumors following Hui used to. He barely trains them, instead letting the kids old enough to die join the gang officially. Most of his time is devoted to chasing down the gang’s debtors for the money they need. 

And if the police haven't left their side yet, it’s only because the reduced amount of money they produce is still enough, for now. Once their powerful, yet very secret, investors realize they’re losing their money —as in, if Jung doesn’t come back with a new link quickly enough— they won’t hesitate to end their deal and send their wailing cars at them. The Dragonnard’s only guarantees are the secrets Jung still kept from Hyuna.

Like Jung wanted, Haechan’s own status in the gang has shifted. When he used to be just another henchman blindingly following orders, he earned respect with his efficient work and his wall of snarky comments. By playing into his extroversion, mocking the weak, and punching the strong, he made a place around the Dragonnards, and by creating terrifying, just slightly out-of-reality illusions, he became dreaded. No robbery, murdern or torture, rattled him, and any of the people he had ever been on a job with had in mind how he could transform from the sassy and infuriating magician, into their worst nightmares. He had a gist to read people and use their fears against them. Like that, he earned himself the greatest gift: isolation when surrounded by killers. Fearless, remorseless, and fiercely independent. Alone.

The only glimpse of freedom he was allowed before was scamming patrons of a nice coffee-shop with fake magic tricks, but now, he’s a second, and everyone holds onto him. Worse, he’s the mentor of the actual trio of seconds. Because he’d been here for so long, because he’s much more cunning and ferocious than them. Everyone relies on him, people he knows for quite some time, like Yuna or Chan, come to him for advice or just small talk to relieve their nerves. They look at him like he’s going to be the Dragon’s savior.

It makes him sick. What he did, he did it to survive —at least he used to try to convince himself. He doesn’t anymore, for he doesn’t deserve the innocence. Some pragmatic orders, he can pull himself to offer, but never the reassuring words the Dragonnards need. Then, he gently not-so-gently tells them to fuck off and leave him alone. _He has a job_. Truth is, he doesn’t want to think about his new job.

Instead, he looks at the girl tied up on a chair in front of him. She doesn’t know how to hide her panic. Tears run down her cheeks but she still lifts her chin. Brave. Haechan likes her. She reminds him of Youngsun, full of arrogance, her hair golden like the sun. 

Garance, the head of a little rising gang that was too insignificant to get the Dragon’s attention before. Haechan doesn’t want to do it. She’s too young and too cocky to die so pathetically. She’s been locked up in their headquarters for three drays. The basement of the old train station patched up by Jung is cold and infested with drafts, but soundproof. Already skinny, the exhaustion makes her look malnourished, her face is too thin, and her cheekbones too prominent. She’s still pretty though, and graceful. Truly, Haechan doesn’t want to do it.

He comes closer, his footstep stopping her sobs. He caresses the blue denim cloth that used to be a part of her jeans but had been ripped off and used as a blindfold. It’s a little trick Jung taught him in the hard way: hurt them with their weapon. Use something they cherish to turn it against them. Haechan doesn’ take off the blindfold, Garance is an _Hypnotizer_ , and a damn powerful one. A look of hers, a bat of an eye, and you find yourself on your knees, glad to give her everything she wants. 

“Where is the money?” Haechan’s voice is soft like silk, as if he didn’t ask the question a hundred times. Not to her, but does it really matter to whom? They’re all dead now anyway.

“Fuck you.” She whispers hoarsely, her breath reduced to wheezes. 

“You don’t have to go through this.”

She turns her head, trying to find where his voice is coming from. He’s walking around her, slowly, looking at the problem from every angle. His intuition tells him that she’ll spit on him if she finds out.

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit, you’re gonna kill me anyway.”

“Who said that? It’s only a question business, it’s nothing personal. You made a mistake, you thought you could take a piece of the cake, I’m offering you to fix it.”

“The Dragon won't let me go alive,” she growls, her voice rasping in her throat.

“But you’re not with the Dragon.”

“Right. You’re a Dragonnard. His little toy.”

Haechan muffles a snicker. She’ll have to try better to hurt his pride. Being a Dragonnard is what he does best.

“Consider yourself lucky then. You don’t wanna know what he’d do to you.”

Garance spits, apparently thinking she’d found, but misses by two solid meters.

Haechan laughs quietly. “Learn your distance.”

“Fuck off! I’m not afraid of you, or of Jung.”

Haechan chuckles again, but this time it tastes bitter.

“You should. You should because you know what he’d do to you?” Without any warning, he seizes her throat. Startled, she coughs on a hiccup. His grab tightens, and she stops, suffocating. “Jung grips harder,” he states. “And before you understand what’s going on, your skin feels hot, way too hot. Scorching.” Garance battles with all the strength she seems to have left.

It burns. It’s burning on her skin. Like she’s caught on fire from the inside.

“He’s a _Soufre_ , and you’re wondering if he’s going to behead you by blowing up your throat. But no. Unfortunately, no. It’s only the beginning.”

He catches Garance’s wrist, and twists it. She cries from pain, but mostly from terror. Haechan just lit her wrist on fire.

“Stop!” She screams, begging, but she’s ignored.

“It’s only the beginning, because Jung takes all of you. His hand leaves your throat after imprinting a nasty burn on it, to land on your ribs and light them up. He’s about to explode you. Your chest… your legs… your arms… your hands… your face.” Haechan’s hands move to every spot he names with an excruciating slowness, bringing tears and yells of pain each time his fingers lay on her. 

Garance begs him to stop, her eyes are covered, but the feelings are so vivid it’s like she sees everything.

“He burns you to ashes. Little by little. And when it’s done, when there’s no parts of you that’s not covered with scabs, pus, blisters and blood left, after hours and hours of screaming so hard you can’t even whisper anymore, he takes your head, almost softly cups it, and stares at your face so scorched your own brother can’t even recognize it… And explodes it. Your blood and your motherfucking brains spurt on him, but he doesn't care because he’s _laughing_ , like the hysterical creep he is. And you, you’re dead. _Finally dead_.”

There’s something weird in his voice. It’s shaking. He’s too amused, too intense.

“I know. I’ve seen it before.”

“You’re a _Soufre_ …” she can only say, quivering. Her entire body is shaking. Pain pulsates through her with her blood, everywhere to her limbs, blurs her mind. She must want it to stop. She must want to crawl to the man who had his hands on her and implore for forgiveness. Or, she’s trying to gather courage, to think she’s better than that. Stronger. That terror doesn’t mean anything to her, and she’ll get him to make a mistake. Once she finds a way to open her eyes, he’s dead, she must believe.

“Oh, honey, you wish I was a _Soufre_. But no. I’m an _Illusionist_. And this… is nothing compared to him.” She freezes. The fake pain has disappeared now, and she’s left with the stupefaction that she was never burned, never in danger.

“But don’t worry. I’m a bloody good _Illusionist_. The pain felt real, uh? And I still have some sweets for you. You love your little sister, right? Camille? She’s really cute. That’d be a shame to watch her die a countless amount of times. I can already hear her screaming.”

“ _Don’t_!” Garance yelps. If such a miserable sound escaped from Haechan’s mouth, he’d be ashamed. “Please, don’t. Kill me now. Please. I can’t do this. I won’t tell you anything, kill me now.”

“I said you don’t have to go through this, you could be useful to us.”

“I’m not an idiot!”

“Then think about it. A _Hypnotizer_ could be precious to the Dragon. Do you know how many politicians and businessmen we need to get on our side? Do you know how much money it costs us to keep the mayor’s mouth closed? Don’t be an idiot, tell me everything, tell me where’s the money, and you’ll be one of us.”

In the end, despite what he’s saying, Haechan doesn’t know which is better: dying now or joining the Dragonnards.

“I can’t…” Tears wet the piece of jeans around her eyes. “It’s not just about me… kill me, now.”

“I know, I know, your grandmother. Family business, am I right? But with us, you would have enough money for you, her, and your sister. What is she going to do without you anyway?”

Lost in her cries, Garance doesn’t answer. Only shakes her head, quivered by sobs.

Haechan sighs and rubs his temples. The illusion starts taking shape around them. The giggles of a soft little girl echoes the tears of her sister.

“You didn’t have to go through this.” Haechan whispers, more to himself and the ghosts of his past, than for Garance.

///

Protected by the night and the altitude, Taeyong flies over Brume. He doesn’t allow himself to go out of the apartment much, if not at all, but as his eagle wings beat the wind, he knows he won’t regret risking his safety to witness the Dragon’s fall. He’s familiar with the gang, even if he has to hide from them, he recognizes the underlying frenzy animating them. Despite all of their efforts, the agony’s unstoppable. 

He doesn't know what to feel, conflicts rage underneath his skin. He can’t lie, the thought of Jaehyun dying overjoys him. It’s a mix of happiness, relief, and hope that comes with the promise of a new life, devoid of any threat or danger. For days, he’s been giggling imagining Jaehyun’s head rolling to his feet. But his laughter is bitter, and his joy is tyrannical, because underneath it lies pain, fear, and guilt. 

There’s no word other than coward he can come up with to describe himself. Hiding in his tower, protected by Doyoung and his money, he’s been safe, while Jeno was, and still is, risking his life to fight battles he doesn’t realize aren’t his. Taeyong helped him, he tried to stop him, arguing him not to do it, while telling him in the same breath Triple H’s weaknesses. Torn between the desire, no, the urge, to see his nightmares disappear, and the possibility of the delicate and innocent light of his life to fade, and vanish too.

And more than that, he thought every memory he’d kept was to be buried —horrific, bloody and rotten— but as they’re on the verge to basculate into the void of oblivion, he realizes they were some other, such the Pandora’s box’s butterfly, small —almost non-existent— and lost in the ruins, but still fluttering to his consciousness. They make him sick as much as they made him curl up in his bed and cry his heart out —so similarly to that night.

His laughter is bitter, and his joy is tyrannical, but they’re real, rendering him to an ecstatic, hysterical, guilty, mess. 

He comes back home, shedding white and grey feathers on the balcony as his winds transform back into his arms and he returns to his human shape —careful to cover the scars. He gets into the living room and locks the glass door. Sat on the couch, Doyoung works on something on his laptop. Through his glasses, he sends Taeyong a simple yet devastatingly univocal look. Taeyong’s heart gets even heavier.

“Not better?” Taeyong asks, nonetheless, already knowing the answer.

Out of himself, Jeno came back from this murderous night changed. He hasn’t spoken more than two-words sentences, his gaze avoids the windows as if the city is a monster, and his movements are slow, like he’s been emptied of all his vital strength. He’s a ghost of himself, clearly eaten from the inside by his own personal devil.

“No.” Doyoung confirms, closing his laptop to rub his temples. 

They’re clueless. From all their years of experience on the field and the different people they’ve met, they’ve never encountered an _Ombre_. Many and various powers, but if they’ve ever been in the presence of one, they didn’t notice it, which, in all honesty, would surprise him. Not that he thinks he’s particularly bright, but Doyoung’s sense of observation and logic are ineluctable, and with the years, he started to believe he himself has a swift mind. 

So, when Doyoung took the kid under his wing too, the hours of research became quickly and obviously unavoidable. And they all led to peanuts. Sketchy websites and a particularly old and dusty book they borrowed —stole— from the thin ‘Powers and Abilities” section of the oldest library in town. Nothing really to help them, except giving them generic information, for example that just like the majority of the other powers, the Ombre would start manifesting around puberty, strengthen, and then stabilize around adulthood, that teenagers would have troubles adjusting, and then proceeded to tell all sorts of legends about the Seven Gods, and particularly Death as he's supposed to be their creator. They weren’t really useful, and the websites were mostly contradicting one another, so they gave up and used their own experiences to create their education, hoping it would be enough.

As a matter of fact, it’s not. If Taeyong thought it had gone poorly for him to exploit his powers, but compared to Jeno’s struggles, his are ridiculous. Sure, he had to go through strenuous and painful ordeals to finally feel strong, but they were intertwined with other events and factors in his life. Jeno is left alone with what seems to be a monster growing inside of him. 

Taeyong didn’t expect this. He’d thought Jeno would be a superhero, growing strong, fast and smart, never that he could lose control. And, in a way, he still believes it. He doesn’t think the _Ombre_ is wrong in itself, but that Jeno had antagonized his shadow, projecting his own wicked parts on it so badly it’s now turning against him. The more he struggles against the _Ombre_ , the harder it gets to find himself.

And if there’s one thing Taeyong’s learnt, it’s that you have to accept the darkness to survive. 

///

It takes another monster to kill a monster.

Jeno stares at himself in the mirror, wondering how the reflection can look so unreal. No matter how hard he tries to rationalize it, he can’t shake off the feeling the young man in front of him is not himself. Carefully, he reaches for the cold mirror and touches the place where his face is. It’s not him.

He closes his eyes, hoping that when he’ll open them, he’ll be back into reality. He gulps, anticipating.

When he opens his eyes, the dash of Hyuna’s blood spatters him, stains his face. His heart fastens, racing in his chest. Thuds pound on his temples, but he doesn’t listen. All he hears is Hui’s wheezes, the sounds of his breathing hitching and gurgling. Cries of pain tear the ominous silence of the bathroom. The rasps are so loud, overwhelming him, obligating him to fall to the floor, crawl and shrivel against the bathtub. He presses his hands against his ears, _to make him shut up._

The sounds of death only get louder. Thumps of three bodies hitting the floor. Jeno gasps for air, but instead of a relieving breath, hot and thick blood slowly descends into his throat to brim on his lips. He coughs. The blood sputters everywhere, yet doesn’t leave him, he only suffocates him more. It doesn’t stop. It never stops. It’s all over him, waves of blood reeking monoi and putrefaction. Jeno drowns.

The blood submerges him, and he gives up. He doesn’t deserve to resist. The _Ombre_ in him, no, the _Ombre_ he _is_ , must atone for his faults. Every breath hurts, and every tear burns, but he wants more of the pain. It’s not enough yet, he has to suffer more, he deserves to feel a blade breaking his ribs, to have his heart ripped apart and his throat cut like a pig. He bites his hand so hard it’ll leave a purplish bruise on the nasty wound, ignoring his hiccups and muffled sobs.

“Jeno! Look at me! Jeno”

As if woken up by the familiar voice, Jeno abruptly breathes in. Air fills his lungs, dries his tears, and washes the blood away, but the lump of guilt in his throat stays. The face deformed by worry, Doyoung is gripping his shoulders.

“Stop crying.”

Despite himself, Jeno lets out an ugly sob. 

“Blood,” he croaks out, still crying, “it’s everywhere.”

“Jeno. Calm down. Listen to me. Breath in.” Doyoung’s hands cup his face, warming his freezing skin. He’s gentle, but imperative, Jeno obeys him. “You can’t let yourself slip. Not right now. I know you’re mad at yourself for not being able to control yourself, but it’s too late now. You have to finish what you started, with or without the _Ombre_.”

“I can’t! I can’t! I thought I could do it but I can’t! I’m an _Ombre_! I’m not made to protect or to save anything! I’m meant to kill!”

Doyoung stays silent, looking for something in Jeno’s eyes, where only lies the bitterness of a painful realization. He shakes his head softly. “No, you’re made of your choices. Don’t let yourself become the monster you’re afraid of, but choose to save, and choose to protect. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the world needs your help. You have to save Brume, and, Jeno, you have to save yourself.”

“And for what?! What should be saved in this blood-sucing city?! What should be protected in a cold blooded assassin?! Hell! You were right! You trained me for fucking nothing! All there’s to save are ashes and corpses!”

“You’re not—”

“Doyoung!” Jeno snaps, his eyes finally meeting Doyoung’s, frantic. His voice is harsh and scratches his throat. His hand shakes, making the blood quiver on it. “My parents abandoned me because they were scared of me! My parents!”

Doyoung recoils, as if he’s hit for the first time with the reality Jeno’s lived, and struggled with his whole life. Mrs. Pimper, the lady from the orphanage, didn’t want him there, and never missed an opportunity to explain to him why. Afraid, she had hidden him, covered up the madness inside of the kid, and threatened to kick him out if he showed any sign of it. She used to tell him as a bedtime story how his parents were so terrified of what he’d become they left him, how they probably died anyway, crushed by the work in the factories and the debts. Always reminding him how he had to care for himself alone, because nobody would want to love a weapon. Crying himself to sleep into his pillow, Jeno had wished he’d never been an _Ombre_.

“You were too young…” Doyoung whispers, not hiding the sadness in his eyes. “They couldn’t have known…”

Jeno chokes on a bitter laugh that turns into a sob. “They did! You don’t know jack shit either! They did and Pimper knew too! They were right! I’m revealing my true color! I’m a monster!”

“No, no, no, no. You’re not a monster, but you have to accept you’re not innocent either. No one is. Not me, not Taeyong, not you. You’re doing your best to turn your darkness into something good, and you’re doing great. You already saved me. You’re a light I never thought I’d see shine on Brume. You have to go on. You can’t stop. When Jung will come back, you’ll kill him, and it will be the end. It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

Jeno looks into Doyoun’s eyes. His tears have calmed, and he finds in Doyoung’s the firm reassurance he needed to get up, to start healing. So many words come to his mouth, counter-arguments and questions, but the newfound vulnerability Doyoung exposes is too fragile to threaten it in any way. 

“Will you stay by my side,” he asks, scared and timid, “even if I become a monster?”

Doyoung smiles slightly, and there’s something sad in his eyes. This time, it resembles remorses. He breathes in, sharply, and lets go. “If you stay by mine, I’ll never leave you.”

Jeno believes him.

///

The sounds of his footsteps barely reach out to his ears, echoing somewhere Jeno can’t perceive. The wind glides next to him but he doesn’t feel its coldness. Being out in Brume after three days of being cloistered in his room feels surreal, yet nothing seems to have changed. The passersby are always so hurried, the cars so loud and the ambient mist and smocks so thick. 

Even though his mind is more tranquil and he’s regained, somehow, a state of peace, restlessness both weighs him down and sends him into an inner frenzy. Every person he crosses path with is suspect and every noise sounds like danger, he never felt more vulnerable. He knows Jung is out of the country, but despite his absence, the threat is omnipresent. He has to admit he’s relieved though. He wouldn’t have been able to kill him in the state he’s in. 

Thanks to the quick metabolism of the _Ombre_ power, his black eye had faded into something yellow-ish, almost gone already, his muscles, sore after the night, were as supple as ever and his wound on the shoulder from Hui’s bite wasn’t as nasty as three days ago and had stopped bleeding. But the pain somehow remained the same.

He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, taking in the biting cold. The harsh sensation is welcomed, for it brings him back to the reality of sensations, out of his own head. He tries to focus his thoughts on what the day has to offer to him. He opens his eyes and walks, starting to feel the excitement bubbling up.

Once he’s joined the meeting place, he finds himself nervously fidgeting. It’s new, and nice. He can’t recall the last time he felt like this, if he ever did. 

When he sees Haechan coming up disheveled from the corner of a street, his heart skips a beat, and when he smiles, radiant, Jeno’s breath’s cut off. He knows he should be walking up to him, but struck by his beauty, he can’t only marvel at the way his golden earrings and necklace make his natural grace glow. 

Haechan comes up to him, and instead of a greeting, he asks. “Where the hell did the jacket go, leather boy?”

Mesmerized, he doesn’t really register the words coming out of Haechan's mouth and can’t bring himself to talk, his mouth suddenly dry. Why does this happen every time?

“Did you lose it? Do you want me to reschedule so you can find it?”

Ah. Yes. his leather jacket. He left it at home. The scratches and stains of blood were difficult to explain —and not very appropriate for a date.

“Jeno,” he blurts out.

“What?” Haechan frowns his eyebrows, suspiciously recoiling from him.

“My name is Jeno.”

“Oh.”

“I figured, it’s been some times we’ve seen each other, and we’re going on a date. You should know my name.” He explains, starting to walk, urging the dumbfounded magician to follow him. 

“Well, delighted to meet you, Jeno. I’m Haechan.” Smiling widely, Haechan takes Jeno’s forearm to walk with him. He tries to play it cool, but the hand on the crease of his elbow makes him weak in the knees. “Now, where are we going, soft long beige coat boy? See? Doesn’t sound so good.”

“To the Annexe. Have you been there before? It’s one of the only coffee-shops in town that either doesn’t sell overpriced drinks, or looks like it’s been robbed or hit with the plague.”

“You like overpriced coffee-shops though.”

“Not really,” Jeno contradicts, suddenly looking at the ground. “I just like the magician in there.”

Haechan laughs, not mocking him but genuinely sounding pleased, maybe a bit flustered, clinging a little more to him. 

For the rest of the short walk, Jeno stays quite silent, listening instead to the melody of Haechan bubbling around him, telling him stories and jumping from one point to another. He tries to stay focused, and for the most, it’s easy, but it’s as if he’s drawn to a dark place of his mind, forever questioning and agonizing over what happened that night. He wishes he could forget, at least just for one day with Haechan, and simply be Jeno.

In no time, they’re at the Annexe. He opens the door for Haechan, welcomed by an overwhelming smell of coffee. A few shady patrons stare at them, but the barista’s friendlier.

“Hi, welcome.” She greets them, looking up as she dries a cup. “What can I get you?” 

“My treat,” Jeno tells Haechan.

“I thought I owed you one? Even two.”

“So coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?” He brushes off.

Haechan chuckles. “A hot chocolate then, please ma’am! With extra whipped cream,” he adds with a grin.

“I’ll have a long black coffee.”

“Coming right up,” the lady says.

When Jeno takes out his wallet, he notices how Haechan’s eyes are locked on his hands.

“Don’t even think about it,” he mutters with a smile.

“What?” Haechan snaps out of his thoughts.

“You’re staring at my wallet, which you’ve already stolen. So I’m saying, don’t even think about it… Besides, you’ve never gotten me my lock picks back.”

“I wasn’t looking at your wallet! I was looking at your h— Nevermind, I was just zoning out. Sorry, I don’t intend on stealing from you again.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m just messing with you.”

Jeno pays the bartender, and takes the hot beverages before getting to a table near the window, where they can escape the weird looks from the creepy old woman who seems to have taken roots on her stool.

They sit down on the armchairs that look like they fell out of a vintage photograph. The coffee shop is nice. Quite rusty, as if they went back in time, when cellphones or Tenebres don’t exist. Maybe it’s because of the sculpted wooden columns, coming from the parquet and supporting the ceiling, overwhelming in their size and rich color. Or because of the tables, made of darker work —the barista probably has a little obsession with the material— that time had damaged and marks of customers , scratches and never-fading spots of coffee embellish. Or perhaps it’s the soft jazz coming from gods know where. The coffee shop is quite unique, away from Jeno’s usual golden streets _and_ from the dirt of outside the walls. Somewhere where they can meet.

“Oh! And about the lock picks!” Haechan exclaims. “Don’t ask me how I got them back… but I got them back!” Excited, the magician lays a thick piece of black leather on the table. Jeno notices a silver light peeking out from it, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“These aren’t mine.”

He hopes he doesn’t sound too harsh, still caught up in a nightmare, and not accommodating to a reality that seems to be a dream. 

A smirk shows on Haechan’s face, “Yes, they are.”

He takes the wrapping and opens it carefully, pulling out a thick lock pick. He points at the base of it, letting Jeno see the small engraving. 

“See? The lilies. It’s well and truly yours.”

Jeno’s left speechless. Haechan puts back the lock pick in the leather wrap and takes Jeno’s hand to put it in it. 

“I figured that if you were to break into safes, or houses, you should do it with something classy, and more efficient to keep your lock picks. Not with some old piece of paper in your very tempting-to-steal wallet.” Haechan pauses, his eyes scanning Jeno. Jeno touches the leather as if it was a precious gem, self-conscious of his gestures because he knows the magician is waiting for a reaction, but still dumbfounded by how considerate Haechan is showing himself. 

“But if the paper means something to you, I still have it!” Haechan adds promptly and a tad loudly. 

“No!” Jeno suddenly gets back to himself, brought by the need to reassure Haechan. “It doesn't, this is perfect. This is much, _much_ , better. Thank you.” His eyes meet Haechan’s, and a hint of mischief in them. “You said I couldn’t ask how you got them back, but… How did you get them back?”

Haechan laughs. “Let’s say… magic. What? Don’t look at me like that, it’s partly true.”

“So partly false.”

“I’m a magician, I work with illusions.”

“Of course.” Jeno smiles and looks at him. He looks at him, and it’s enough to make him understand he wants to know more, one of these imperious stares that make him spill the beans. 

Not without a dramatic sigh beforehand, Haechan tells the story of how he had to track the lock pics and eventually break into an old lady’s apartment, climbing on her gutter and slipping through an open window, to convince her to let him have them.

Jeno listens religiously to every syllable and genuinely gasps at the exaggerated turnarounds, because Haechan’s a captivating story-teller, then they move on naturally to different topics, talking for what seems to be both a second and eternity. Yet, there’s something in the air. An unspeakable tension. Lies hiding themselves. Things they keep at bay because what they have here is a mirage that should remain unsullied by bitter truths and the harsh reality.

———

If Haechan hasn’t known Jeno for a long time, almost none actually, only caught glimpses of a handsome face in the cozy crowd of a coffee-shop, he senses that the boy isn’t himself. He’s somehow distant, like he’s preserving Haechan from something —which he finds highly ironic. He wishes he wouldn’t, and he wishes he could do the same: protect Jeno from danger. Unsettled, he tries to find an explanation to why he is feeling so close to Jeno already, as if their hearts had always been in tune, but he finds none. So he goes on with the talk and the teasing, waiting for Jeno to gain his charisma and repartee back, even if it probably won’t happen.

Haechan has so many reasons to hate Jung, he didn’t know it was possible to add one more. His heart beats with hatred, so much it threatens to spill, as he watches the face of the guy who gloriously eliminated the Triple H and killed three Dragonnards, so bitter. He thinks Jeno should be proud, but the Dragonnards managed to instill poison in his soul, and the Dragon sent in his arms a death trap. Haechan feels sick.

Their date could have been so different, in a world where they’d been innocent. They could have been two careless young adults, finishing their studies, goofing around, far away from any gang. Haechan would have winked and Jeno would have blushed. Jeno would have taken his hand, and when he would have tried to kiss Haechan’s cheek, confused, Haechan would have turned around his head and accidentally joined their lips. Jeno would turn all red but before he'd recoil, Haechan, giggling, would have kissed him. He’d have gotten home, butterflies dancing in his stomach, and told Youngsun how his date went with dreamy eyes.

But as beautiful as a world without the Dragon could have been, Haechan still finds a weird comfort in the fact Jeno’s not only light and beauty, and that they’re stuck in Brume, as gloomy and infected with Tenebres as it is. Darkness bounds them closer, in a way only culprits can experience. They have blood on their hands and sins only they canwash together. 

He wants to say something. He knows he shouldn’t, he’d be against Jung’s orders. But he thinks that more than anyone, he can understand how Jeno can feel, watching his kindness getting ripped away from him.

He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.

“You’re being weird, leather boy.”

Jeno looks up to him, startled. 

“Thank you?” He answers warily.

“No, not in a bad way. It’s just… even if we don’t know each other, I assume you’re not exactly loud and extravagant. You always speak so softly and act around me like I’m made of glass, yet you always find your way to tease me and put me at my place. Today… it feels like something is off.”

———

Jeno opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.

“It’s fine if you don’t wanna answer, you don’t have to.”

Jeno chuckles at Haechan’s newfound nervousness.

“It’s fine. You’re right actually, something happened and it got me thinking, a lot.”

“Can I ask what?”

For a short instant, he hesitates. His eyes bore into Haechan’s, he finds them so welcoming. 

“No, you have to get me drunk for that.” 

He can’t be so careless. More important is at stake.

“That I can do.” Haechan winks at him, taking the last sip of his drink.

“You sound awfully sure of yourself, magician.” Jeno smiles, brushing off the last remains of questions floating in the air.

Just like that, they’re back to joking around, getting to know each other’s sense of humour, boundaries and personalities, nothing too factual, that could get both of them in troubles, getting used to each other’s presence, basking the warmth surrounding them. They bicker for quite some time, Jeno getting more and more lively with Haechan’s every teasing, not noticing the sun getting down and wrapping them in a red embrace through the window.

“Okay, but are you really up for drinks? Because now I want one.” Haechan comes back to the original topic.

“I know this place is a bit eerie, but it’s still just a coffee place.”

A smirk appears on Haechan’s lips. “I know a place. It’s fun.”

Jeno’s eyes trail on Haechan’s fingers, thin and agile, almost imperceptible when he touched him for his magic trick, invisible, when they caught his wallet, but they’d burned his skin through his fabric. He thinks that he doesn’t need to get drunk, that he shouldn’t, for obvious reasons, but he wants to spend more time with the magician. He wants another magic trick, another bickering, something else that reminds him of reality. Not the one of his ivory tower with Doyoung and Taeyong, and not the one of the Dragonnards. A middle ground, somewhere not so black or so white. Somewhere where he can breathe. 

“Why not.” He smiles.

Haechan gets up under his eyes and offers his palm for Jeno to take, as a graceful prince would.

“If you’d follow me.”

Surprised and hesitant, Jeno raises an eyebrow, not daring to touch him. Haechan’s grin widens, playful, but too honest to be just a joke. Jeno takes his hand and links their fingers.

///

When Haechan drags Jeno into the subway station after they’ve crossed the walls, Jeno doesn’t know how to react, except holding his hand a little tighter as they run down a flight of stairs. He doesn’t know what he expected when Haechan told him he knew a place, but definitely not risking his life in the unsanitary underground tunnels of Brume. It smells like pee, some of the dirty white lights are broken, and the ground is sticky. Jeno couldn’t be more excited.

“Why are you grinning like an idiot?” Haechan laughs, eyebrows arching with a question.

“It’s the first time I'm taking the subway!”

Haechan stops in his tracks.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not!”

The magician rolls his eyes before he starts walking again, taking Jeno with him.

“You’re so fucking loaded.”

In his history textbook, Jeno had learned the three subway lines were set into grounds long after the walls were built —don’t ask him to remember the exact date though. Of course, the main investors were the Nakamotos, owning almost all the factories that turned the Tenebris into power, then electricity, and so on, money. As the city’s expansion rate had exploded, the shareholders had needed to organize the chaos of workers piling up in lanky buildings and give them a way to their workplace.

Raising their salary so they could afford a car, would obviously be shooting themselves in the foot. They could save money instead, and wouldn’t need to work in a shitty factory anymore. So three lines of public transit it was, connecting the industrial with the east, west and the south. The north was inside of the walls, no need for much exchange. People there could afford a car to drive through the narrow streets and on uneven cobblestones.

It’s cold on the platform as they wait for the train, but Haechan’s hand on his own warms him. They chat, talking about how old the subway is, how the only money ever invested in it after its construction was to pay the ticket inspectors.

“But wait, we don’t have any!” Jeno realizes.

“Duh? Why do you think we jumped over the ticket barrier?”

“Oh shit. I just thought it was broken or something.”

Haechan laughs. “Damn, I really could bring you to hell and you wouldn’t bat an eyelash.”

The train comes in, rushing and gushing, so fast Jeno wonders if it’ll actually be able to stop. Miraculously, it does, and they get in. 

“It’s just for a few stations, don’t sit down. You’ll catch chlamydias or something.”

“What?” Jeno asks bewildered.

“I’m joking.” Haechan winks, leaning on the door they didn’t come from, Jeno imitating him.

The train starts up its devilish ride, the wagons trembling and the wheels squeaking, swinging bodies with turns and stops at each station. More than once, Jeno finds himself squashed against Haechan’s side before they put some distance again. 

Suddenly, as Jeno hasn’t even realized the tunnels were evolving, the lights turn off when the red light of the decaying sun bathes the wagon. Outside, rolling on a bridge across the Nacre river that splits Brume in two. Jeno never paid attention to it, but as it’s mirroring the shadows of the buildings, he thinks that the darkness, spilling into the calm water, turns it into black oil.

The sun disappears completely behind the walls and the train returns to its tunnels. The sky is pitch-black when fresh air fills their lungs after they get out of the train station. Once they’re walking on the streets, their destination isn’t far-off at all. At least that’s what Haechan says.

He’s right, not two minutes after, they’re facing an old bookshop. Odd. First because of the poor neighbourhood, second, because:

“But wait, isn’t it too late? It’s probably closed already.”

Haechan simply stays silent, casting him a glance as mysterious as his amused smirk, and opens the door. 

A bell chimes in but only the echo answers. The library is old, and so dusty Jeno sneezes as soon as he steps a foot in. The books look like they haven’t been opened in hundreds of years and eaten by moths. An old man stands behind the counter, keeping himself busy turning a lighter on and off, his eyes more hollowed than Jung’s moral compass.

“Roger, would you please?” Haechan demands without even looking at the guy.

The guy doesn’t either, so Jeno guesses it’s fine. Are every of Haechan friends so impolite? And old? The guy turns off the lighter and pulls a lever. A whole shelf of books pivots to reveal a staircase from where laughter and a smell of alcohol escapes, just like magic.

Not letting go of Jeno hands, even after around forty minutes of traveling across the city, Haechan gets down first, holding it high, elegant, careful not to pull Jeno’s whole body with him.

“What the fuck is this place?” Jeno whispers, thrills of marvel ringing in his tone.

“Wait, you’ve seen nothing yet.”

The room hiding underground is at least three times bigger than the bookshop. The energy there is effervescent with people and bustle. Despite the lack of windows, the room is copiously lit by large chandeliers hanging here and there from the ceiling. The bar takes up the whole wall on the right, as if it’s watching over the customers, liquors pour freely from its taps. Shouts and laughs fly thick and fast all around and from all tables, cards hustle and coins play with the lights, alcohol flows like a river and reddens the faces. 

As they set foot on the floor, Haechan lets go of Jeno’s hand.

“Don’t get lost.” He tells him, like a mirage.

Except for the bartender, no one notices them

“Haechan,” she greets loudly, covering the ambient noise.

“Taeyeon.” Haechan mimics. 

“I’d like to say long time no see, but it seems like I can’t get rid of you.”

Haechan sighs dramatically. “You just love me so much, it’d be a crime to take me away from you. Anyway, can I get my regular, and uh, one Home Sweet Home for my friend?”

“Just a moment,” she answers, looking at Jeno with interest.

“Come on Jen’! Let’s find a table.”

Dragging Jeno in the middle of the room, he leads him past numerous tables, waltzing around them, answers to some random greetings from strangers and chatters about the games that are played here, sprinkling a few anecdotes of his. Suddenly, he stops.

“And what do you want to play?”

“You should pick.”

“No, I want you to choose, or you’ll say I cheated,” Haechan smirks knowingly.

“Uh, I don’t know. I’m not sure I remember half the games you’ve mentioned.”

“They have pretty much anything you’d want to play though, the versions probably differ from what you know though.”

Jeno raises a mocking eyebrow. “Like a street version?”

Haechan bites his lower lips, still smiling. “Exactly. A street version. So, a mocking jay? Cicadelian tarot? Luminator?”

“You know what, I’ve built myself quite a reputation with the Cicadelian tarot. Let’s find a table.

“Oh really? ‘Cause I’m still gonna kick your ass.”

“You wish.”

With a glance, Haechan notices a table playing tarot. He pulls two chairs so they can sit and wait for the current game to end. Soon enough, Taeyeon brings them the two drinks Haechan ordered. Between two squabbles with the magician, Jeno takes a sip of his drink. A strong taste of cinnamon explodes in his mouth, bringing sugar-softened alcohol down his throat unseemingly and leaving sparkles on his tongue. It’s fucking delicous, and Jeno knows it for being treacharous. It’s probably strong as hell but the sweet taste covers the alcohol.

“You’re really not pulling punches, are you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” whistles the magician.

The game begins. Haechan rolls up his sleeves before he takes his cards and Jeno doesn’t stop his eyes from trailing to his forearm, on Haechan’s smooth skin. When he looks over to the bar, however, he catches a sight of a Dragon's mark on the forearm of another bartender. He should be afraid, but he’s weirdly at ease.

It’s a new world Haechan has brought him in, one where he needn’t hide. He’s not up there on the roofs, watchings the thieves and little criminals, but walking alongside them. He thinks he even sees a girl who used to be a big Tenebres dealer at the other end of the room before he put her in jail a year ago. She doesn’t notice him though.

They play Cicadelian tarot for quite some time before moving to mocking jay and then get on Luminator. Jeno won the Cicadelian tarot but Haechan got him at mocking jay, teasing each other relentlessly and baiting the most ridiculously high amounts of money on who’s going to be the best at Luminator.

At some point, Haechan leaves the table to get them some other drinks. After some time, Jeno finds he misses his magician and his attention leaves the players to focus on his date at the bar, who is immersed in a talk with Taeyeon. If it wasn’t for his _Ombre_ nature, Jeno could have never gotten what they’re saying across all the noise.

They’re simply exchanging mundanities, talking about how the playhouse and bar is doing, and Jeno’s about to stop listening as he’s finding he hates spying on Haechan, but the word “Dragonnard” punches him in the guts and forces him to keep paying attention. Unfortunately, their distinct voices turn into whispers and Jeno can’t make out any words With a nod, lips tightly closed, Taeyeon ends the conversation. Haechan returns to the table, hands full of drinks. He smiles, and Jeno decides that he doesn’t care.

The magician is cheating. Cards swirl in his hands, one vanishes and a different one appears. He doesn’t contain his smirk and when he sees Jeno peering at his little tricks, they only share a conniving look. In the end, they drop the underlying drinking contest of who’s going to get drunk the last and simply have fun, eyes sparkly and cheeks pink. Whirled up in a world he used to watch and judge from above, Jeno lets go. He drinks, he laughs, he jokes, he wins, he loses, he looks at Haechan shining in the dark.

An idea blooms in his mind. It’s wrong, he shouldn’t. He glances at Haechan, sitting at his left. Fuck it.

He glances at the man at his right. He’s tipsy himself but the man’s drunker. Without laying his eyes on it, Jeno finds the right pocket. With a flip of fingers, the content of the man’s wallet pours into his hand. He smiles, listening to whatever joke the man’s telling, thinking about the drinks he’s going to get with his newfound money. It’s the first time he’s used his _Ombre_ abilities to do something irrevocably wrong. Doyoung’s intransigeant stare crosses his mind, reminding him how pathetic straling a drunk man’s money is when he can get all the money he wishes for from him.

Doyoung, the former lawyer. The one hiding his kindness behind a cold wall in this cruel city, the one who gave up his youth to study, the one who tried to give Brume fair trials, the one who fought against the gangs’ violence, the one who urged Jeno for all his life to be better, to be in control, but to be free. Jeno feels a sting of guilt, before Haechan whispers something snarky about the woman on the opposite side of the table in his ear, and the cold eyes immediately fade away.

They leave the room and the bookshop into the night, pocket full of dirty money and ears of bubbly laugh, loud and lively on the sleeping streets, they go somewhere else. Where? Jeno has no clue. They’re both drunk, and they don’t care.

“Hey! Dipshits!” The loud yell of the drunk man stops them in their euphoria. They turn around, smiley and fearless nonetheless. “You stole my money!” 

The man almost runs to get to their level. He doesn’t seem so drunk in the fresh night, and Jeno can smell that his breath is more charged with tobacco rather than alcohol.

Haechan giggles. “No we didn’t, big boy. Go back home and sober up.”

“Hey… uh, Haechan,” Jeno whispers. “I kinda did take some bills.”

The magician turns to him, eyes wide with shock.

“You dared?” he huffs in disbelief, surprise graces his face with a smile.

Jeno doesn’t have to answer, for the man’s at their throat already.

“Give me my fucking money back!” Sprays of spit fly onto Haechan’s face as the man raises his fist threateningly.

“Listen, listen.” Disdain drips from Haechan’s words. He sinks an accusatory index finger in the man’s chest to push him away, sneering as if his life is depending on it. If he’s trying to piss the man more, he’s certainly succeeding. “I have no idea who you think you are, but I strongly recommend you to leave us the fuck alone.” 

It’s almost comical, the way the man looks like an angry bull with veins bulging on his red face, but the way his fist darts to Haechan’s face is not.

It’s as if all the alcohol leaves Jeno’s body. Abruptly, the world becomes clear, the ground doesn't swing anymore and a big red target appears on the man’s face. He won’t lay a finger on Haechan.

In a second, Jeno’s standing between them, catching the man's wrist before it hits. He swings his free hand to land on the man’s jaw. The jaw cracks, broken. The man falls onto the ground, grunts of pain, but gets up. He’s tough, really tough. He doesn’t give him the time to counter attack and punches again right at the same point. His eyelids flutter as his body relaxes. He’s already unconscious when Jeno kicks his balls, forbidding him to collapse, for a second, before he tumbles miserably on the wet cobblestones.

Jeno doesn’t have to catch his breath, but he pretends like he does, wary of what Haechan’s expression might look like. When he turns around eventually, he’s confronted with a face he can’t interpret. Haechan’s smiling like he never did before. It’s unlike his never-ending smirk, his competitive beam, his daring grin. It’s different, subtle, but captivating. His eyes shine with bewilderment and something Jeno’s never seen. And, is he really blushing?

“What?” Jeno asks, somehow breathless. 

“Two seconds,” Haechan mutters. “It took you two seconds to deck his shit!” His face lights up with excitement Jeno doesn’t understand. “Wow! That was _effective_.”

“So you’re not afraid… ?” 

“Why would I be?” Haechan gasps, and strangely, it sounds honest. “When I have a literal killing machine to protect my ass.” He laughs and it never sounded as beautiful. “You hid from me you were not just a soft long beige coat boy. You’re a bad boy. Bad boy Jeno. Killing machine.” He chuckles to himself.

“You’re not… even a little bit weirded out?”

The aggressiveness and adrenaline leaves his body like a storm quietens, the waves appeasing the tides, and Jeno’s left with his drunkenness again. Yet, he can see that Haechan, while still tipsy, knows what he’s saying. The magician takes Jeno’s arm and wraps it around his shoulders before taking Jeno by the waist. Jeno lets his hand slide to grab Haechan’s shoulder gently. Together, Haechan makes them walk through the sparingly lighted streets.

“Please, honey, I’ve lived in Brume since I was twelve, I’ve seen some shit.” 

Jeno chuckles. “It could get worse.”

“It can always get worse.”

“I mean, me.”

“What do you mean?” Haechan pounders softly.

“I could be worse, more violent, more aggressive, more dangerous.”

“But you’re not.”

Jeno sighs, trying to get the words right, for Haechan to understand the true extent of his nature without actually telling him. 

“It’s not something that’s inevitable but it’s also… not impossible at all. I’m scared to lose control.”

“Just like everyone else my dear…” Haechan turns his head, his eyes caressing Jeno’s face as delicately as his whisper rises. “Personally, I’ve found a long time ago I thrive in danger and darkness. It’s become my home.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“You can’t be scared to fall off the cliff when you’re already at rock bottom.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I told you I've lived in Brume since I’m twelve. Outside the walls. Shit’s bound to happen.”

“Did you have anyone to protect you? Parents? Older siblings?”

Haechan breathed in with difficulty. “Dead.”

“Sorry about that.”

“And you?”

“Dead, too. The parents. Didn’t have older siblings anyway.”

“I have an older sister.” Haechan’s voice had become hoarser, his words more hesitant. “Well, I used to have one.”

“What’s her name?”

Haechan sniffs loudly. “No, sorry. I can’t.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Jeno says, trying to speak as softly as he can. “I know it’s hard.” Haechan looks at him, no resentfulness whatsoever. Jeno tiptoes a little, and it’s hard to do it as they’re walking, even at their slow pace, but he manages to kiss Haechan’s forehead.

The magician’s eyes are shut, and his lips tightly closed in what changes from a pained expression to a shy smile. Jeno wonders how he got so lucky to witness such a pure vulnerability, and wishes he’ll be lucky enough to protect it. Butterflies are flying in his stomach all the way up to his throat. He just gave Haechan a kiss on the forehead, _and Haechan liked it_.

The silence falls over them like a drape. He’s not scared that Haechan’s going to run away from him, for he feels his fingers gripping his shoulders, af is Jeno’s a rock to hold on to in a tempest.

“Where are we supposed to go again?” 

Jeno laughs. “I have no fucking idea.” 

And somehow, it’s the funniest thing ever. They chuckle softly first, before Jeno finds Haechan’s laugh funny and starts imitating it, making Haechan laugh even louder, which gets Jeno almost on the floor. Holding their stomachs, wiping their tears, their cheeks hurting, they lose their breath. When one calms down, the other cackles harder, and it all comes around again. Lost in the city, or lost in themselves, they forget about the world.

When they’ve calmed down, they fall back together, arms around each other, like a promise. Jeno’s dizzy again, a stupid smile plastered in his face. He feels light, and free, like he could fly up at any moment. Haechan’s so close to him, clinging to him to walk straight. He’s humming a song to himself. Are they still drunk? Or is it something else?

“You wanna see something cool?” Jeno invites, expectant to share a bit of his world with Haechan.

“I always do.”

“Ok, so, tomorrow afternoon, we’ll meet at the corner of the Aurore street and the Ménimontant, and I’ll show you.”

“Why not right now?” Haechan whines.

“Because I’m unsure I can take you there safely… And also, it’s an excuse to see you again.

Haechan arches an eyebrow, and turns his head toward him. “To get me where safely?”

“Somewhere cool.” Jeno teases, making the magician huff in frustration.

Jeno smiles lightly, his gaze sinking into Haechan’s eyes that shine like galaxies. He notices for the first time the adorable moles on his cheek. His hair looks soft and he wonders how it would feel to run his hand through them. The magician is so beautiful, enrapturing and mesmerizing enough to make the time stop, Jeno wants to kiss him so bad his guts drop to his feet at the mere thought. He doesn’t even realize he’s leaning in until Haechan closes his eyes.

His lips flutter on Haechan’s cheek. it’s not much, light and shy like a butterfly. Their cheeks brush, allowing him to sense the softness and warmth of Haechan’s skin, and a million sparks of electricity explode under his ribcage. It’s over in a second, but he’s grinning like an idiot. if it’s so powerful already, how is it going to be when they kiss? If they kiss?

When he moves away, Haechan’s eyes are wide open. Dumbstruck and speechless, he’s staring at him, a blush having warmed up his face. When he speaks, his voice is gentle and devoid of any sharpness.

“By the way, dumbass, you don’t need any excuse to see me again. You can’t smooch me like that and not call me again.”

“Give me your phone number then.”

“Gladly.”

————

And they actually do, registering each other in their respective phones. It feels so silly and unnatural. Haechan lives for it. He slides his arm to entangle it with Jeno’s, before he joins their hands and links their fingers. Jeno squeezes his hand gently, reassuring Haechan to rest his head on his shoulder. He breathes deeply, savouring the peace he thought he’d never feel again.

“Haechan… who are you?” Jeno questions in a low voice.

Haechan spins his head too fast to stare at Jeno, looking for any sudden sign of fear, or anger. He tries to repress the terror creeping up, hanging desperately on Jeno’s gentleness. Because he’s not angry. And there’s nothing but innocence on his face. Haechan’s secrets are safe. A clasp of guilt chokes him, punches him in the guts. A part of him wishes his secrets weren’t safe. 

He wants to tell Jeno everything.

That he’s lying to him, not a simple magician but a Dragonnard, sent by Jung to gather every piece of information he could get. That it’s not the worst thing he ever had to do, and that he’s not sorry for those. That he knows what Jeno is and what he did, but he doesn’t care. That he wants to be with him, if he’s kind and dumb enough to give him a chance. That even if he doesn’t, it’s fine, because, for a moment, he felt like the home Haechan’s lost a long time ago, and that he’s fucking grateful for giving him this, even if he’s unworthy.

“Is it so weird that I feel like I’ve known you for all of my life?” Jeno continues, looking earnestly for an answer.

Haechan slowly shakes his head. “No. Not at all. I feel the same.”

All of the sudden, Haechan’s wrapped up into an embrace, two strong arms gently holding him. Jeno takes all of him, and it’s so natural for him to melt. Why is it so easy? In years and years, never had anyone hugged him, not like that. When Youngsun wasn’t there to hold him anymore, he eventually learned that Jung’s rare calms would be the closest to tenderness he’d have in his life. He had flings, and one-night strands deprived of affection, and he learned to be fine with that. Just, meaningless care in a bed, an absurd counterfeit of love.

He breathes in, snuggling into Jeno’s warmth. It’s an electric shock to be held like he’s being held, as if after years of wandering in the dry desert, he’s drenched by the rain and thunder hits him with all its overwhelming power. So why is it so easy to stay under the storm? Why is it so easy to fall into Jeno’s arms?

“We’re _ridiculous_ ,” Haechan says in a chuckle. “We really started talking like, what, two weeks ago? Spent a total of eight hours together? Why do I like you so much already? Do you know you’re infuriating? I don’t even know you!”

Nestled into Jeno’s neck, his own words are thorns squeezing his heart. He doesn’t know Jeno, and Jeno doesn’t know him, what he did, or what he’s doing. Holding him so tightly, he’s a despicable traitor, and no matter how much he hides and snuggles up against Jeno’s warmth, shame finds him easily.

“It’s easy to solve.” Jeno muses. “Let’s get to know each other.”

“Fine.” Haechan lifts his head to rest his chin on Jeno’s shoulder. “What’s your favourite colour.?

“Pink.”

“Cute.”

“And you?”

“Gold.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Jeno laughs. “Does it even count as a color?”

“Shut up, of course it’s a color.”

They stay silent after that, Jeno swinging their bodies so softly Haechan doesn’t know if he even realizes it.

“You need to understand, Haechan…”

Haechan shivers with cold as Jeno parts from him. Delicate as he always is around him, Jeno cups his face in his hands. His eyes flicker on his face, as if they were looking for something.

“I’m dangerous.”

Haechan would laugh if Jeno wasn’t so serious, darkness having taken over his face, his features subtly disformed into an underlying hurt. He realizes only now that if he’s overjoyed Triple H are dead, their murderer might have not killed them with a joyous heart and a smile on his lips. Jeno lowers his hands, leaving Haechan’s cheeks cold. Quickly, Haechan grasps his wrists.

“No you’re not. You’re my soft long beige coat boy.”

“I— I’m serious.”

“But me too.”

“You don’t understand…”

“I think I do.”

Jeno withdraws, freeing his wrists from Haechan’s grip. Haechan’s breath hitches in his throat.

“I don’t deserve you.” Jeno says, and Haechan doesn’t know if it’s of a tear he caught the glimpse of. “At all.”

Would it be so different if Haechan’s heart was physically ripped apart?

In a desperate attempt to be truthful, he moves forward, and takes Jeno’s face in his hand.

For a second, as his fingers trace Jeno’s sharp jaw perfectly and his palm slides on his smooth skin, he thinks he can’t do this. Lying to Jeno is too difficult, for he’s too good, too beautiful. He deserves so much better, someone honest and kind like him. A flash of embarrassing hope dares to cross Haechan’s mind. Maybe this person could be him? 

But, in the next instant, the memories of Youngsun and of the Dragon he tries to avoid, are flooding his mind. He sees Garance. Long golden hair that shines so brightly in the sun, dirtied by dust, sweat and blood. He hears the loud thumps of explosions and Jung’s laugh. He smells ashes and cigarettes.

Swallowing his tears, ignoring the cold sweat, and the shivers running down his spine, he makes up his mind. He didn’t have a choice in the first place. He had a peek of the light at the end of the tunnel, but it’s time to step further into the dark.

Luckily, he had all of his life to learn how to put an act on, it’s not that difficult to seem so naive and innocent.

“That’s not true. And I don’t care. I’m not letting go of you anyway. I meant it when I said I’m not allowing you to smooch like this and not call me back after.” This time, he’s the one leaning in and kissing Jeno’s cheek. He doesn’t hope Jeno will forgive him, but that he will die quickly enough not to get hurt by the betrayal. “Now, tell me about you leather boy. I wanna know everything.”

///

The next day, it’s Haechan who spots Jeno first. Focused on his phone, he didn’t notice him coming up.

“Leather boy,” he greets. His fingers dance on Jeno’s shoulders.

Startled, Jeno still pleasantly notices the light tint of red on Haechan’s cheeks and his shortness of breath, as if he’d rushed to get here. He puts his phone back into his pocket, offering Haechan a grin before getting serious.

“Magician.” He says. “Do you know how to climb?”

“Depends on what.”

It takes Jeno two whole minutes to calm down. After he chokes, he tries to stop coughing as he senses heat turning his throat and whole face red. Haechan watches him, amused, and not even slightly embarrassed.

“ _Buildings_. I meant climbing buildings.”

“Should’ve said so.” Haechan winks. “But, no, I can’t. Well, I’ve never tried.”

Jeno gives a smile he hopes to be ominous like he’d never been with Haechan and turns around to dive into an alley. He stops when they’re at the foot of a fire escape stairs.

“Where are we going? Because if you’re expecting me to jump and grab those stairs I sure can’t.”

Jeno knows he’s joking around, but he smirks, disconcerting the magician even more. “I can.”

Squatting a little to gather strength, evaluating the distance from the ground, in the next instant, he jumps. He grabs the platform and drags himself on it. Maneuvering smoothly, he unfolds the stairs. They slide down along a track, and grating, they stop right before Haechan. When Jeno looks over him, an awkward laugh escapes his lips. He’s staring at him, speechless and eyes wide open.

“What?”

“That’s fucking insane!” Haechan finally snaps, going up the stairs. Jeno lets out a sigh of relief when the magician takes his hand. “You jumped like, what, four whole fucking meters? How can you do that?!”

“Is it really that high?”

“Is it really that high?!” Haechan chokes, as if Jeno’s just said the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. “Jeno, what the fuck! Yes, it’s that high!”

Jeno’s torn between confusion and amusement. No one had ever seen him doing something _Ombre_ -esque without getting beat up. Except for Doyoung, who never really shows any particular fear or astonishment, and Taeyong, who congratulates Jeno the same when he takes down three armed men with bare hands or when he beats his sudoku with a high-score. Haechan doesn’t seem afraid, but mostly impressed. It’s good. Not that Jeno’s planning to reveal him he’s an _Ombre_ soon, but if things are getting serious, he’ll have to, and not too late. Soon enough for Haechan to have the possibility to leave, at least.

For all the time it takes to climb the stairs, Haechan gushes about how amazing this just was and asks a million questions as to know if he had any prior physical training and tells him he wants to see Jeno do other cool stuff. At the end, Jeno watches him trying to catch his breath with the softest feeling settled in his chest.

“Don’t you dare mock my weak mortal condition.”

“I’m not.” He answers tenderly.

The wind ruffles their hair as the cityscape unfolds in front of them. No matter how many times Jeno comes on the roofs, it always remains unique. This time, it’s even more different, because, Haechan —who finally recovered from the ascension— is here, eyes sparkling with wonder. He twists around to let the landscape overwhelm him. The sun’s hidden by the clouds and the usual mist softens the sharp edges of Brume, turning the scenery into a soft and comfortable cotton dream, a place of surreal and fantasy, where it’s so easy to lose yourself. If Jeno’s right, Haechan has never seen the city like this.

He understands why Haechan is in awe, and he’d be too, if he wasn’t caught up in the spectacle that the magician is himself. The moles on his cheeks like a constellation, his round bubbly eyes, their innocence concealing his snarkiness, his pouty lips that turn into a sly smirk most of the time, but into a stupid grin when he thinks Jeno’s not looking, his soft hair colored by the spring sunsets Jeno would like to play with.

The sun is hidden by the clouds, but Jeno thinks he’s found his own.

They’re still pretty low, and Jeno wants them to climb higher. The first bit of the walk is easy, the roofs are relatively on the same leve and the slopes aren’t too steep. Haechan doesn’t talk much, only traces of admiration escaping his thoughts. Careful and agile, he doesn’t protest when it gets harder and doesn’t show any sign of fear. It doesn’t prevent Jeno from watching him, scared at his place.

“Unclench, leather boy.” Haechan scolds gently.

Jeno softens up a little, but he still helps him climb a harsh part of a roof, taking his hand and bringing him closer. He’s afraid of letting go, as if Haechan’s going to slip away and fall into Brume’s abysses, as if they’re both going to sink if they don’t stay together.

But they’re together. And gliding on the roofs, flying over the passersby, snaking in and out between chimneys, feels so good. He senses his muscles relaxing, the energy soothes him instead of buzzing in his mind, not troubling his senses but sharpening them. Maybe for the first time ever, the _Ombre_ in him is calming, and not screeching to be unleashed. It feels good, having someone with him here, when his only company used to be his demon.

He looks at Haechan, and he breathes in, properly for the first time in days. Finally getting his head above the roaring waves, he reaches for a desperate, long awaited, gulp of air. He still has to fight for it, the abysses grabbing his ankles. But if in the night, he had Doyoung’s calls to guide him, they were confused, and incapable to find an aim, he was drowning. Haechan is the light giving him a place to land —a place of acceptance. Jeno clings to it.

After some time, they arrive at the destination Jeno had planned. He stops and watches Haechan join him, his cheeks and the tip of his nose reddened by the cold and the effort. They sit on the edge of the building as their eyes lay on the mist slowly unveiling the landscape to them.

“We’re here,” Jeno says. “My favorite view of Brume.”

“Why here?”

“Because it’s home.”

“As in, a few stories under there’s your apartment and everything?” Haechan snickers.

“Yup.”

“Oh… Damn. You’re so fucking rich.”

Jeno chuckles. “Well, I’m not the rich one. Doyoung is.”

“Oh.” Haechan’s smile falters. “Doyoung?”

“Legally my adoptive dad!” Jeno rushes to answer. “But he’s only twenty-eight, so he’s more of a big brother figure to me? But he feels more like a distant dad, and Taeyong is very stereotypically a mom, so I don’t know. Not gonna lie, it’s kinda weird.”

Sparkles light Haechan’s eyes. “You weren’t lying when you said you had a weird family.”

“No I didn’t. Taeyong is, well, he’s very cute. He’s a _Shapeshifter_ , and he likes turning into a cat a lot. His cooking is divine. Doyoung, well, he’s Doyoung. They used to be lawyers actually, they retired because they got in troubles with some shady people —and were loaded as fuck already anyway. But honestly, I think if he wanted, Doyoung could have won over them, I mean, he’s mad terrifying. First time I met him, he was covered in blood.”

“Are they, like, a couple?”

“Oh no! Doyoung’s not the type to be into anyone, and Taeyong…” Taeyong can’t go outside, making it difficult to meet new people. But this, Jeno leaves it unsaid. There’s no way he’s putting Taeyong’s secret, and safety, into what still remains a stranger’s hands. “Anyway, yeah, they’re unusual. But I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I literally owe them my life.”

“They seem amazing.” A flash of sadness veils Haechan’s expression for a second, but before Jeno can pray, it’s already gone. “I’ve always wanted to be a _Shapeshifter_! Can you imagine how cool it must be? I could make so many cool tricks and get so much money.”

“Haechan…” Jeno sighs with a smile.

“Jeno…” Haechan imitates, poking his tongue at him. “Turning into someone else, being able to fly, breathing fire!”

“Dragon of July-style?”

“Exactly!”

“It wasn’t a _Shapeshifter_ there.”

“Yes it was! I saw it!”

“Everyone saw it.”

“You don’t get it! It was so amazing! Terrifying, of course —I was shitting my pants. But, just… wow. A dragon. It was a wholeass dragon, made of flesh and bone.”

“Well, I didn’t get to see it, but Taeyong explained to me how _Shapeshifters_ work, and yes, they can turn into anything they want, but they’re constricted by size. They can’t stretch or shriek endlessly. A great _Shapeshifter_ can turn into a mouse, or a bear, but no smaller, or larger. If a _Shapeshifter_ changed into a dragon, it would be a ridiculously little one. Nothing like how massive the Dragon of July was.”

“Then what was it?”

“I think probably a mirage created by an _Illusionist_ at Jung’s order so he could cover up he had exploded yet another building. I heard rumors he has a good one at hand.”

Haechan shakes his head. “I can assure it was as real as you and me. Anyway, how can you tell if you didn’t witness it? What were you even doing?”

Jeno clears his throat. “I was locked up in a room the size of a closet in an orphanage.” Wrapped under a thin cover, he had only heard the roars. He didn’t know that at the time, but soon enough he was being adopted by Doyoung.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“Well, let me tell you how it went.” Haechan scouts closer to him. “I had just arrived in Brume, it was maybe my third night here. I’ll never forget it. The sun was only lowering, even if it was already late in the evening. It was just warm enough and the wind allowed us to breathe after the suffocation of the day. The sky was so beautiful, all in red and fierceness. And, suddenly, a roar shakes the whole town. It turns quiet, but not for too long, because similar shrieks tear the city. There’s a loud crash and the sound of bricks breaking, and a dragon flies into the bloody sky. The ground is trembling with the power of its wings. It rises up and plays a little in the air, before he turns back to the building it emerged from, and it _burns_ it. I could feel the warmth all the way from my hotel. When all the stones had turned black, it looked over the city and flew away, disappearing somewhere in Brume. I remember thinking it was a hell of a town.” Haechan laughs quietly and Jeno smiles with him, appreciating his capacity to captivate an audience with fondness.

“You’re making me feel self-conscious about the view now.” Jeno jokes, half-serious, nudging Haechan with his shoulder gently. “All grey clouds, no fierce and scarlet sky.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s only clouds, maybe it’ll get clearer for the sunset. And don’t worry, it looks incredible just like that.”

“Yeah… but I kinda wanted to impress you, magician.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, laughing. “You don’t need to impress me when I’m already ready to take some of my precious time, and risk my life —which is only worth a drink to you, haven’t forgotten that— to have a hike on top of Brume with your ass.”

“Yeah. And what do you do with your time anyway? Shamelessly rob some poor dumb boy for a trick?”

“That. But I also break into old lady’s flats for said dumb pretty boy. Otherwise, I entertain people with my charms, and maybe from time to time, I pull a few scans. What? Don’t look at me like that. Oh! And I do some tarot reading! I’m a magician, after all.”

Jeno tries not to lay on the fact that Haechan called him pretty —and dumb, but still pretty— yet Haechan’s smug smile tells him he’s been given away by his giddinness. Haechan spares him a comment though, which gets him even more embarrassed.

“Would you give me a read?”

“Of course.” 

A deck of cards appear from nowhere in Haechan’s hand and he moves away to get the space to lay the cards. He mixes them dramatically, just like he does in the coffee-shop, playing with them in the air, not bothered by the wind in the slightest. 

“You don’t have to show-off like that.” Jeno scolds, knowing fully he’s grinning like an idiot.

“On the contrary,” Haechan winks.

“I thought we didn’t have to impress each other.”

“I’d be a poor magician if I didn’t at least try.” 

He brings the cards together in one deck, putting it between them as he explains the procedure. Jeno listens carefully and cuts the deck as he’s been told.

“No cheating, right?”

“You can’t cheat with fate, my dear.” Haechan answers. “Are you ready to meet your destiny?”

“Shoot.”

Slowly, Haechan draws a card and shows it to him. The tower drawn on it is on fire and struck by lightning, and the crown at its tops is crumbling.

“The Tower.”

The second one depicts a skeleton with a scythe in the hand, black empty orbits staring at Jeno. There’s a silence as Haechan lays the card before he clears up.

“Death. Or the nameless arcana, or Rebirth. Everything is in the interpretation.”

“And how do you interpret it?”

“There’s still another card to discover.”

Without waiting for an answer, Haechan places the last card next to the two others. On it, a bleeding heart, pierced by three shining blades.

“The Three of Swords.”

“You don’t seem so happy about it.”

“It’s not the best drawing I ever saw. The Tower means a big change, a big, but also a big danger. It’s a card about destruction, but for the best. The Three of Swords is one of the worst arcana, associated with hurt, separation, and betrayal. And Death symbolizes not a physical death but a rupture, a sudden change, and end. It’s a bad omen in the sense that it brings pain, but again, supposedly it’s for the better.”

“I’m in a deep shit, that’s what it means.”

Nothing he didn’t know of already.

“Yeah, I mean, if I wasn’t just playing around with tarot and would actually believe that, I’d tell you to be careful.”

Haechan lifts his eyes from the cards to look at Jeno, taking his breath away. Haechan’s eyes shine with pureness and gold, sparkles of sun lightning them.

“Look!” Jeno snaps, realizing the sun emerged from the clouds for its rays to glisten on Haechan's eyes. “The view just got a whole lot better!”

The clouds had fragmented, thick but scattered shreds of cottons tinted with incandescent colors of the sun. Gold has chosen Brume as its kingdom for the time of a moment, embracing every corner of the city with its warmth. The building’s lines, defined by the light, shade the streets, af if they’re trying to make the windows twinkle even brighter, diamonds sprinkled by the sun. 

“It feels like a long time since I’ve seen Brume this beautiful.” Jeno whispers before turning his head to see Haechan already looking at him. “Stop watching me, enjoy the view!”

With a somehow cocky smile, Haechan takes his eyes off his. “It’s breathtaking.”

The sun had never felt so warm, the light was never so beautiful, the wind never so gentle, and the sky never so big. Silence falls on them, peaceful. Jeno takes Haechan’s hand and the magician intertwines their fingers so naturally it feels like their hands had been made to hold one another. Side by side, they watch the spectacle of the sunset painting the sky. The sun sets the clouds and the city ablaze with a burning orange, before letting the sky slowly fade into a purple, tender like lilac, then replaced by a sweet pink fondling the horizon and softening the harsh lines and sharp edges of Brume. The sunset lasts long, long enough for Jeno to take great delight in the view. Surreal.

Then, the night comes with its suffocating familiarity, black and threatening, and drawing Jeno into a spiral of fears, only Haechan’s hand in his to keep him in reality.

Haechan’s phone rings, breaking the spell around them. Haechan shoots Jeno a worried glance, and it hits him how tired the magician looks. He can hear the shortness of his breath, as if he’d just made a big effort. He thought he’d recovered from the hike on the roofs… Jeno nods, showing him he doesn’t mind Haechan answering the call. The magician stands up and walks away for privacy. Jeno could listen, but he feels guilty enough for having spied on his conversation with Taeyeon last night already.

When Haechan returns, he seems even more tense and exhausted.

“I need to go,” he says, avoiding Jeno’s eyes. “I just got a call from my boss, and he needs to see me.”

“Your boss?”

“Yeah, you know, the one organizing where I pull my tricks. It’s always the same shit with him, he calls me unprompted and if I’m not here in the five minutes I’m fired.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Just a smidge.” Haechan sighs. “Anyway, what’s the quickest way down? I’d jump gladly but I won’t get paid if I do.”

“Actuall, jumping is not that far off from reality.” Jeno smiles at Haechan as he gets up. Under the magician’s confused eyes, he goes to the ventilation system.

“What…? Jeno, you’re very trustworthy, but what the fuck are you talking about?”

Jeno doesn’t answer, instead he pulls out a long, black, and thick cable out of a big hidden reel. Doyoung got them installed on their roof, and identical ones on others, creating paths only they know about connecting their building with the some stragetical places in Brume. Jeno winds the cable around his hand as he walks toward the edge of the building.

“Shall we?”

“Are you trying to kill me? I’m not dying like that, leather boy.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t die in my arms?”

“I’m saying I don’t wanna end up with a broken spine, my limbs splattered in weird angles and my brain three meters away from my head.”

“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe, I’ve done that already.”

“How many times?” Haechan asks, suspicious, but he approaches Jeno nonetheless.

“Plenty of times.” Jeno answers as he puts his foot into the stirrup at the end of the cable, stuck to the huge magnet. At the other side of the streets, if the mechanism is activated from their apartment by Taeyong, the magnet would fly to connect with the other reel, allowing Jeno to walk on the rope like an acrobat. “It’s made up for this purpose, there’s a brake to slow down the fall, and even a motor for me to get back up.” 

He’s not lying, he’s just omitting a part of reality.

Haechan arches an eyebrow. Hands on his waist, he doesn’t look convinced.

“Aren’t you in a hurry?” Jeno teases, opening his free arm for the magician to join him.

“Fine,” Haechan caves in and joins him on the edge. “But if I die, you’re not invited to the funeral, and you have to carry the weight of my death for the rest of your existence. And, believe me, I’m heavy.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Without a warning, Jeno slides his arm to Haechan by the waist and wraps him up. A nervous laughter escapes the magician's lips. “Put your arms around my neck and hold tight.”

Haechan obeys promptly, enveloping Jeno’s shoulders with arms and holding his own elbows to secure his grasp.

“Tighter.”

“If you wanted a hug you could have just asked!” Haechan snaps, making Jeno giggle.

“Just hold tighter, your whole weight will be on my shoulders.”

Haechan rolls his eyes but brings himself closer to Jeno, close enough that he feels his heartbeat on his chest. 

Jeno turns his back to void, getting ready to fall, and allowing Haechan to realize how high the building is. Haechan doesn't say it, but the way his grasp tenses and his leg intertwines with Jeno’s free one, tells him he’s terrified.

And with only a brush of fingers on Haechan’s waist as a notice, Jeno tilts into the void.

Haechan gasps loudly and even though Jeno was prepared for the fall, his heart drops into his feet. It’s fast, but still slow enough they can enjoy the view. Well, Jeno can enjoy the view, Haechan has his head buried between his arm and Jeno’s neck. The magician breathes in loudly. Jeno chuckles but winces at all the weight on his shoulder, where Hui’s bite pounds with pain. He stays still nonetheless, careful to hold Haechan with everything he has.

Wonderful, incredible, fantastic and whimsical, this is how it feels having him so close. With a magician in his arms and gravity playing with him, how couldn't he feel better? Peaceful but ecstatic, Jeno clings to him even more.

“So, is it that bad to fall with me?”

“When did you become so smooth?” Haechan grumbles.

“I can’t hear you when you’re mumbling into my neck.”

Haechan looks up at him with air of defiance. “That’s a lie.”

“Yes,” Jeno confirms, allowing Haechan to return to the safety of his elbow, except he doesn’t.

The buildings go by around them, but they pay them no mind. Lost in each other, they barely notice it when they land on the ground. Their chests hit one another with heavy inspirations. Their faces are a breath away. Jeno stares at Haechan’s lips, then his eyes, then his lips again, and Haechan does the same. 

But they don’t move.

Because Jeno’s throat’s still tied with guilt, and he doesn’t dare to pull Haechan into the shit his life is right now.

“You look so happy on the roofs, Jeno.” Haechan murmurs. “It’s like you’re dancing in the sky. Please, stay up there forever.”

Why does it sound like a farewell?

Slowly, Haechan detaches himself from his arms, but Jeno could swear his eyes plead him not to let go. With a last look, he leaves, and everything turns grey again.

Jeno looks at him go, cold, and it’s probably his imagination, but he thinks he glimpsed a tear rolling on Haechan’s cheek. When he’s out of sight, Jeno unwinds his hands from the cable and removes his foot from the stirrup to pull on the cable, turning on the motor so the cable goes back up without him.

In the elevator to join his apartment, he puts his hand in his pocket. Haechan thought he was being smooth, but Jeno felt him slide the card in his jacket. Taking a look at it, a smile blooms on his face the same way a soft feeling does in his chest, but it turns bittersweet. The more he thinks about it, the more his suspicions don’t seem so crazy. The Lovers. _Dumbass_.

///

Haechan doesn’t like being called to Jung’s office. It’s too personal. The few times it’d happen before were memories Haechan tries to forget. Normally, he used to get his instructions from the seconds, or some other dude relaying the information, the Dragon was just a sword of Damocles hanging over his head, present but still distant. Now, he’s a second, closer to Jung than he ever was. Of course, his office is better than the rooms in the basement, but you don’t get simply called to those.

The office is messy and stinks of sulfur and cigarette ashes, with papers clattered everywhere, ink spilled on the wooden desk along bills Jung likes to keep with him like a comfort blanket, and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts laying here and there. However, the worst part of the room is undoubtedly the wall covered with pieces of paper pinned on it, from all around the door to the corner of the ceiling. The little rectangles are so abundant they hide the ugly dark green wallpaper randomly peeled off by time and the stifling hotness. On them, written in a messy handwriting, names. Trophies to remember people Jung took the most pleasure to kill, or get killed. Once enemies, rivals, or old friends, all memorable prey. 

_Lee Yongsun._

Written in red, stamped with blood.

Haechan’s heart pounds in his chest, his mouth runs dry and his hands get sweaty. He closes the door, careful not to look behind him, from where the piece of paper is staring at him, having witnessed and judged Haechan’s every misdeed.

Dark circles weigh down Jung’s gaze, his skin is so pale it turns greenish, and his white shirt is all creased. Leaning on his desk, he runs a hand through his hair before taking a big draw of his cigarette. He sighs, the smoke obstructing Haechan’s view for a second. It’s not surprising his trip to Rheingein had been rough, Sicheng the Rechte doesn’t have the reputation of a kind man.

“You better have some good news.”

“I think so.” The memory of Jeno’s soft cheek under his lips takes Haechan by surprise. He gulps, trying to shove it to the back of his mind. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but he must be strong.

“Enlighten me then.” Jung’s voice muses angrily. “I don’t have all night.”

“He lives at the 24th of Opera Street. He’s been staying home a lot but he goes out sometimes to grab a coffee at his favorite coffee-shop. I have the name if you’d like.”

Jung pursues his lips. “How about you give me some fucking _useful_ information? Does he live alone? Parents? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Housekeeper? Is the building secured? When is he the most vulnerable?”

“He lives alone with a cat. The building is highly protected and he’s the most vulnerable when he goes outside the walls at night to look for crime to stop.”

Jung lights himself another cigarette and takes deep breaths. The smoke creates a mist up the ceiling as the silence grows thicker. Haechan stares at the massive emerald stained-glass window behind Jung, but it’s hard to avoid the intensity of the Dragon’s eyes laid on him.

He’d made his decision. So why is the guilt labouring his chest with its venomous fangs? It wasn’t that hard, cutting Garance’s throat, letting her go after hours of torture. It had pained him, of course, but all he had to do was close his eyes —and it had been over. Over all these years, he’d made it easy with the robberies, the scams, and the murders. “Survive,” he’d told himself ruthlessly as he tasted the blood. And now, he can’t even bring himself to talk.

He sees Jeno on the roof. Pink reflects perfectly on him, Haechan had thought. Suiting him like a tender rose would, highlighting the softness of his skin, the beauty of his traits, his perfectly drawn lips and the adorable mole under his eye. He’d let his gaze linger on the leather boy, before looking at the color enrapturing the city, and the windows slowly glistening with their yellow light. This sunset took Haechan so much energy, but there’s no doubt it’s the illusion he’ll take the most pride in. It’d made Jeno so happy.

It should’ve been just another job.

“Haechan, come here.”

Startled, Haechan’s eyes jolts back to Jung. Immediately, he understands he’s in danger. Still, he steps forward. Jung moves from behind his desk to sit on its front, nonchalantly, almost seducingly.

“Give me your wrist.”

Haechan obeys.

Without breaking the eye-contact, Jung takes Haechan’s hand and rolls up his sleeve. His skin isn’t untouched, but the burn of the Dragon is on his other forearm. Jung removes the cigarette from his lips —and presses it on Haechan’s skin.

The Dragonnard yelps, and tries to pull away in a jerk as the pain strikes him. Jung’s hand grips harder.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

Haechan stops moving. Instead, he takes the pain and tries to repress it, jaws clenched and arm trembling. When Jung is done, and a small red mark remains on his skin, Jung throws the cigarette butt on the ground.

“Now, are you going to make me wait again?”

“I’m sorry,” Haechan articulates, the voice shaking.

And, terrified, he speaks.

It hurts at first, and it doesn’t go away. Every word is a blade tearing his mouth apart, scraping his throat, and stabbing his guts. He tells Jung everything, every trivial little detail of Jeno’s life, about his weapons, his abilities, and his tricks, not missing out on anything. His whole body’s quivering, he doesn’t have the energy to keep the illusion going. He’s back to being just a kid. When he’s done, he’s a word away from collapsing at Jung’s feet.

A smug smile deforms the Dragon’s face.

“Haechan, Haechan, Haechan…” he mocks softly. His fingers find their way to Haechan’s jaw, making the boy flinch at the touch. It burns, and, at this point, it’s unclear if Jung is actually hurting him or if he’s being delirious. “You’re not telling me everything again.” Jung’s nails dig in Haechan’s cheek like claws. “You’re not that good of a spy, little fucker. How did you manage to know all of this? Tell me, how did you proceed?”

Haechan stutters, only held standing by Jung’s grasp, his heart beating erratically.

“I charmed him,” he finally pulls himself to answer, shame reddening his face.

His back slams against the door. Air leaves his lungs and excruciating pain thumps his head. His hand pressuring his throat, Jung pins him on the door. His eyes burn with anger. Haechan realizes he’ll be consumed by flames. Sooner or later, he’ll be swallowed by Jung’s scorching rage. It’s only a matter of time.

“ _Liar_. If someone is enamoured, it’s _you_. You’re pathetic.” Jung spits. “Tell me, Haechan, did he bring you on dates? Did he hold your hand? Did you feel your stomach flutter?”

Haechan desperately tries to reach for air. Jung doesn’t seem to care.

“Look at you, he got you all in love. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I killed your precious sister, doesn’t that make me sort of your big brother?” 

Tears brim Haechan’s eyes and roll on his face heavily as he begs Jung to let go, choking on his words.

“And to think I believed you were better than that. But don’t worry, we’ll get our revenge on your pretty boy. I’ll make sure of that. You won’t be embarrassed by him again. You’ll have the pleasure of pulling the trigger.”

Finally, Jung lets go. Haechan tumbles to the ground, loudly coughing as oxygen fills his lungs. He doesn’t even get up, not try to soften his sobs as Jung looks over him.

“If I find out you lied to me, you’ll regret I won’t kill you as mercifully as I killed her.” Jung says. “Now get up and take your phone. You have a call to make.”

///

Jeno rushes outside the moment he hears Haechan’s voice on the other end of the phone. He doesn’t bother taking a coat or warning Doyoung or Taeyong he’s leaving, neither telling him where he’s going. Tightly holding his phone, he runs all the way to the street he’d met Haechan for their first date. Apparently he’s run away and needs Jeno’s help. There’s a huge possibility it’s a trap, but also one Haechan put himself in danger to protect him. He needs to know.

The street is empty when he gets there.

Out of breath, he shoots confused glances everywhere and nowhere. The unique street light flickers. He reaches for his phone to call Haechan. He’s too scared and too lost in the adrenalin to see anything, heart throbbing in his chest and pounding in his ears.

And this is why he doesn’t see the Dragon coming, doesn’t hear his shuffling walk, or doesn’t smell the ashes.

The silver sparkle of a crowbar raised in the air —and everything turns black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this much softer part and I'd love some kudos and comments! You can yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kitty_track) or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/kitty_track)!


	4. Part IV — Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [slides to your browser] good evening.
> 
> The longest night of the year has fallen over Brume and took Jeno with it. We're gonna have some fuuuun with this one (read: pain). All the TWs are important here, as usual, but especially the Torture one, Burning injuries, Physical and Psychological abuse, Mentions of past abusive relationship too.
> 
> I know I haven't done that for the other parts, but I really have to add a few songs here, they just fit so well.  
> \- I Don't Wanna Die, Hollywood Undead  
> \- Shaking Hands, B.Miles  
> \- Drop the Game, Flume & Chet Faker
> 
> Have a good reading!

“Please! Don’t kill us! I’m begging! I don’t wanna die!”

Despite how late it was, the sun lingered in the warm hours of a day of July. It was a nice change in Brume, the mist disappeared for a few months, the cobblestones dried and the inside of the walls emptied as families left for their beach houses recently bought in Cicadelia now that the civil war was over. Doyoung wasn’t fond of the short summer though. Indeed, the hot weather turned people into lazy slogs, and forced him to wear less clothes, diminishing hiding spots for weapons.

The man supplicating in front of him was Mr. Peter, a wealthy insurer who worked with the Nakamotos. Dragged there by Doyoung after he knocked him out, he’d been more talkative than planned, begging for his life even if he had no idea what Doyoung was about to do.

To be fair, he wasn’t really mistaken.

Uncaring of Peter’s supplications, he pulled out his gun. Less than actually wanting to do this, Doyoung had to: Peter was standing in the way of his case. If he wanted to accomplish what he _had_ to accomplish, he couldn’t be dismayed by a few murders.

“Oh, you don’t wanna die?” He mused, as he loaded the weapon. “How unfortunate…”

“Please, don’t do that… You’re so young… What are you, nineteen? Twenty?”

“Twenty-one.” He replied, remaining impassive.

“See? Just a kid. You don’t have to do this… Your father, your father wouldn’t want that…”

“My father…?”

Doyoung fell silent. The room was quiet, only disturbed by the harsh and heavy breaths of Peter and his wife —Doyoung had taken his wife too— sitting face to face, prevented from seeing each other by him standing between them. Terrified, Peter didn’t even have the bravery to gulp properly, disgustingly wheezing instead. Doyoung ignored them as he dived into his thoughts.

His father used to be a cold and stern man, better in evil business than fatherhood. Yet, despite all the harm he’d done, and him passing away, Doyoung still remained his son. He thought about what he would have wanted him to do, and the answer, clear and pristine, with the revelation that he should honor his father’s memory.

Doyoung lowered his gun slowly, looking at the man tied up to a chair.

A smile appeared on Peter. He must have been hopeful, realizing they were going to survive, him, and his wife.

_**BANG! BANG! BANG!** _

Mrs. Peter was dead. Her mouth, wide open, trickling with blood. On her chest, two hideous holes, the last bullet having pierced her throat, digging a cavernous gap through the flesh. In the blink of an eye, Doyoung had turned around, and shot with the precision of a surgeon.

Peter screamed. Tears ran through his cheeks as his yells scratched through his throat. His pain would have been unbearable to watch, for anyone other than Doyoung. He’s seen worse anyway, and Peter had it coming, not only had he paid hitmen to attack Doyoung, but Taeyong too. So it was simply an eye for an eye. Satisfied, Doyoung moved so Peter could admire the spectacle of his dead wife better. Peter threw up.

It was enough. Doyoung put his gun back into his holster and took his dagger instead.

“It’s funny how wrong you were… My father would want me to rip your head off your chest, so you’re lucky I’m a bit of a rebel.” The blade slid gently on Peter’s throat. “You’re going to die tonight. Painfully. Like my dear father. And the last thing you’ll see is my smile above the dead body of your wife. What? Oh, you thought I was going to walk away after stabbing you, like some sort of a cocky bastard? You fool…”

Swiftly, deadly, Doyoung moved his wrist. The blade sliced the femoral, on his thigh. Peter yelped before he cried, before the blade came back to cut his throat. In contrast, Doyoung’s voice was so calm it sounded like a death knell.

“I’m going to watch you bleed to death.”

Shock blocked guttural sounds in Peter’s throat as the blood gushed. He looked like he’d beg, weep, sob and whine, but the cold grip of death clasped him.

Doyoung watched him silently. And, like many other times before, he had lied. Because even if Mr. Peter did watch the body of his wife pierced by bullets, the holes gaping and the blood still warm, the last thing he saw was not a smile, but two dark eyes. Two black holes, aspiring his life, devouring the last sparkles of energy by an icy seize. Plunged in the darkness, a last shiver on his spine, Mr. Peter died.

Not bothering to clean up anything, Doyoung went out of the abandoned building, far-off outside the walls. Many other things need to be done tonight, and the sun didn’t set yet.

The shriek of a dragon made the city tremble, shaking off its inhabitants to their bones.

Cockiness allowed him a slight smile before his face closed-off again.

He had to deal with Jung now.

///

Jeno’s woken up by cold shivers running down his spine, and his teeth clacking. It’s freezing. A smell of ashes overwhelms him. Everything around him is dark, and, in the haze of a pounding headache, he doesn’t understand immediately he’s blindfolded.

Slowly, he takes back control over his body. He straightens his neck, sore from being tilted back before, and tries to move his arms, but they’ve been tied up right above his elbows to the back of a chair. A surge of panic rushes into his veins. He takes a deep breath. In his head, Doyoung’s imperious voice orders him to stay calm. He cools down. A metallic clinking reverberates in his wrists when he tries to move his hands. Handcuffs. Trying to swing his feet, he tests the resistance of the ties holding his ankles. His breathing is oppressed by ropes squeezing his abdomen to the chair. The air around him is cold, but the absence of wind tells him he’s inside.

He doesn’t get the time to gather his thoughts —a door opens and shuts. Footsteps. Someone’s walking toward him. That feeling, the one he felt with Dawn, shakes his hands. Jeno’s like a prey cornered by a ruthless predator. They’re coming closer. So close that Jeno can hear their steady breath and ominously calm heartbeat. 

Before the deep voice resonates, Jeno already knows he’s trapped in the Dragon’s den.

“Have you ever been burned, Jeno?”

No, actually. Scars are scattered on his body, here and there —traces of blades that were able to damage his thick skin, a bullet that pierced his thigh, and Hui’s bite still throbbing— but never a burn. His guts twist. His heartbeat fastens and his blood pounds to his ears. The darkness surrounds him the same way fear does.

He focuses on Doyoung’s voice in his mind, and on the memories of the hours spent in training. “Your greatest weapon isn’t your physical abilities, or your mind. It’s control. Your will, and nothing else, must be your master. Only then you’ll be able extend this will to reality. To aim, and hit right. To bend your opponent to your wishes.” Jeno needs to control himself.

“I’ve heard it hurts like a motherfucker,” Jung taunts, but his tone’s honeyed, velvet to thears. “You wouldn’t believe how hard a human can scream.”

Jeno realizes that as good as a _Crystallizor_ Dawn used to be, nothing could equal the terror Jung provokes. A monster of fear tears Jeno from the inside. It’s dangerous. With every second passing. Jeno’s control weakens. The _Ombre_ in him lurks, urging to be unleashed. 

Jung moves, and a hot blast of air brushes Jeno’s skin. Jung rips the blindfold apart, spinning Jeno’s neck. A striking pain overwhelms him, along with light, before he can see again. 

In front of him, in all his chaotic glory, the Dragon stands. A cocky smirk crooks his perfect features, and Jeno could swear it’s not a tooth that reflects the blemish yellow light, but a fang. His neck tattoo he got from the Rechte clashes with his white shirt, creased but impeccable. Piercings shine on his face, but the evil flame in his eyes burns brighter —with a promise of ruin and ashes.

Jung, the fire. Jung the Destroyer. Jung, the Dragon.

“Would you look at that? The kid who murdered my seconds, silent as a grave. That’s ironic.”

“Where is he?” Jeno asks, mouth dry and voice quivering.

“Where is _who_?” Jung asks, but they both know what Jeno meant.

“Haechan.”

“Why would you want to know that? Do you care about him? Did he promise you love and wonders? Did you let yourself be lulled into illusions?”

“Is he safe?”

Jung sneers, “Why wouldn’t he be?”

Jeno’s tired. He lets the anger boil in him and intertwine with fear and confusion. Haechan isn’t _here_ , and maybe, maybe, there’s a chance he’s not what Jeno thinks, but simply in danger. However tied up to a chair, he’s letting his chance to find him slip away with every second.

“Where. Is. He?”

Jung laughs at his anger.

“Don’t worry, leather boy, He’ll be here in a minute.”

His blood freezes. For a second, his heart stops beating.

No. It can’t be. Frantically, Jeno searches for another explanation. Jung could have sent several spies. Haechan could have been genuine, not knowing someone was watching them. It must have been someone who made themselves so elusive that even a shadow couldn’t discern them. Someone who was loyal enough to Jung to inform him right the day he came back, before Doyoung and Taeyong knew. It could be someone else. Maybe.

“Jeno, I know every of your little secrets.”

“Is he safe?” He mutters, avoiding Jung’s deadly eyes.

“Stop bothering me with him. He’s fine. He was a useful bait and will make an excellent spectator of your death.” Jung lets out an annoyed sigh before his evil smirk comes back. “Plus, don’t you think turning a magician into a Dragonnard would be great? What do you think of this? Could his heart of gold belong in the darkness?”

Disgust fills Jeno as he imagines Haechan under Jung’s orders, terrified by the Dragon and imprisoned in a life of crime and misery.

“No. He’s better than that.”

Jung doesn’t bother repressing his loud snickers.

“You know, you shouldn’t worry about him so much.” Jung turns around Jeno, a predator watching his prey, taking delight in their fear. “It’s not him who’s trapped under the Dragon’s claws.”

“And what does the Dragon want from me?”

“What do you even think you can give me? You can’t bring back my seconds. You can’t find Sicheng’s man you sent away. And you can’t, for the _life of you_ , know your place. There’s nothing I want from you, except, maybe, hearing your screams as I watch you burn.”

His body jerks, tightening his ties painfully, when Jung grips his shoulders.

His hands are claws, clenching and imprisoning him. Through his sweater, Jeno feels the temperature of his skin rising. Too fast, too hot, as if someone is approaching two incandescent lamps near his shoulders. The fabric burns on him. Aching, his face contorts, he grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut, tries to escape the pain by tilting his chest forward. All in vain. Jung’s too strong and the ties around his chest are too tight. Jung abruptly strengthens his grasp. Jeno yelps.

Jung lets go, but the pain remains.

“Isn’t it so amazing?” he murmurs in his ear.

Jeno’s chest rises with frantic breaths, too fast. A few beads of sweat trickle on his forehead. His eyes desperately search the room for any clues on an exit. Door. No windows. Gun on a desk. No air vents. _Door_.

In a movement of panic, he abruptly spreads his arms to break the handcuffs, and flexes his legs to rip the ties. The rope on his ankles breaks, but when the metal tenses, it doesn’t yield. Jeno’s left with free legs, but sore wrists, and the head dizzy from his erratic heartbeat. He tries on more time to break his handcuffs, wondering why Jung doesn’t stop him.

“Big boy, I know you’re very strong, but you can’t break police handcuffs.”

His arms fall on the back on the chair. The handcuffs are cold on his skin. Dead hands circling his wrists, still fingers heavy on his skin.

“I figured I couldn’t let our dear Lieutenant Moon go in a black body bag without paying him a last honor.” Jeno sinks into frozen water. “See it as a relic, if you’d like, to remember his tenacity, his bravery, and his stupidity.”

The fire burns. Inside Jeno, the _Ombre_ is revelling in Jung’s destruction, thriving and strengthening. Wings about to burst out of the two burned spots on his shoulders, not for Jeno to fly away —the _Ombre_ wouldn’t let that happen— but to turn around and allow the _it_ to take out both Jung, and himself, in a last rush of deadly rage.

But the fear is ice. Consuming him, little by little, paralyzing him in an immobile frenzy. He’s impassive, but it’s because he’s trapped that he doesn’t move. He knows trying to attack would be either foolish, either letting the _Ombre_ take over. He sees Moon’s intransigeant stare above him, glinting with anger and determination. He can’t let go. He stays in control.

Jung takes Jeno’s wrists, firm on the handcuffs, caressing the metal with his finger before lifting Jeno’s arms. Jeno’s muscles are getting tenser and tenser as Jung doesn’t stop, his breath shorter and shorter, and his joints weaker and weaker, threatening to yield. The unnatural angle of his arms locks Jeno into a silent panic. It hurts. It hurts so much he’s afraid of making the tiniest movement. He winces, trying to stop shaking. If Jung raises his arms again in the slightest, his bones might break.

Before Jeno can understand what’s happening, the handcuffs light up, rings of fire.

He chokes on the ache. Unable to process anything other than the rage of his body under attack. He can’t fucking resist, because if he moves, his bones will snap and crumble. Biting his tongue, he tastes blood. And his heart beats too fast with the excruciating possibility that Jung’s going to explode the handcuffs —and Jeno’s hands with it. The fire on his skin is so intense it feels as if it pierced through his flesh to bite his bones. He pants and grunts, prays that it’ll stop. But the intensity only strengthens. And maybe that’s it.

The burns on his shoulders seem ridiculous now, Jeno doesn’t even feel them. Jung was just warming up, showing him the taste of something small he’d take as a great danger, fooling him. It worked, Jeno was blinded.

He wishes he could speak and beg, but he can’t for the life of him articulate any thought, let alone coherent words. He can’t even get away. His whole body shakes, menacing his drained joints. The atoms on his skin buzz, millions of bees stinging him. Blood stains the handcuffs. Jeno closes his eyes and hopes it won’t hurt too badly.

As suddenly as the pain came —it fades.

He doesn’t believe it, but the burn retrieves. He takes huge gulps of air, allowing his jaws to unclench. It’s over. He has to calm down.

Jeno hears Jung lick his lips. A soundless chuckle.

In a horrific second, Jung’s hand flies to grab Jeno’s left shoulder, while the other still keeps a tight hold on his arms.

Jeno’s eyes widen.

It snaps.

Loud pop in the room, before Jeno yells.

Released from Jung's hold, Jeno’s dislocated shoulder lets his arms thump to the back of the chair.

Jung didn’t use his _Soufre_ power on his shoulder this time, but it —burns. Jeno doesn’t feel his arms, but at the same time, it’s as if they caught on fire, flames slowly descending to his upper arm, creeping under his skin. One minute ago, he could have cried, now, it’s different.

“Good luck with breaking into my office like this.”

“You motherfucker, I’ll kill you.” Jeno doesn’t recognize the deep raspy voice, terrifyingly cathartic, coming from his guts, yet he’s known it all too well. “I’ll fucking break your kneecaps and make you beg for forgiveness. You’re gonna regret the day you were born, I’m going to reduce your spine to crushed glass, crack your eyes open like eggs, and tear through your chest to feed your heart to yourself.”

He wishes Jung wasn’t behind him. He wishes he could spit blood to his face.

Jung catches Jeno’s throat. Gripping it, he presses his thumb into Jeno’s windpide, but his voice isn’t threatening.

“Say that again.”

Jeno hardly gulps, air struggling to enter his lungs.

“Say that again. Stop hiding behind this fake mask of kindness and let me see the real you.”

A loud knock on the door prevents Jung from spilling more of his venom into Jeno’s wounds. He releases his grasp. Getting out of the darkness, he faces Jeno, magisterially ignoring the urgent thumps behind the door.

His fist flies before Jeno can see it.

It hits his cheekbone with a crashing noise.

Jung catches the chair before it can tumble to the ground.

Some guy walks in, merely glancing at Jeno, he shrivels in front of Jung. He still talks, informing his boss that the Rechte is ready to send new shipments of drugs after choosing a new connection to set up in Brume and that he agrees to keep the other package safe thanks to Jung’s sacrifice. 

Jeno ignores the other details. He has to run away. The only reason why Jung allows his Dragonnard to talk so freely about Tenebres around him is because he isn’t planning on letting Jeno make it through the night. So, dismissing the pain on his face, his burned wrists and shoulders and the throbbing pain of his upper arm, he slides his finger under his sleeve to find the hairpin. He’s not afraid of making any mistakes, Doyoung trained him to unlock every type of lock, in the dark, and under pressure. But his heart throbs to the rhythm of raw fear and anger. He’s a trapped animal. A panther, ready to jump at Jung’s throat the moment he breaks free.

He can escape. Lieutenant Moon’s handcuffs are unlocked. Jung has his back turned on him, not even in the way of the door, immersed in his conversation. He could fade away. He’s an _Ombre_ , he could return to the shadows. It’s what he does best. He could find Haechan, come back to Doyoung and Taeyong, plot a clever plan against Jung and get his revenge later, when he’s stronger.

Except it’s not what he does best. And it’s not what he wants. He looks at Jung’s neck and imagines, no, dreams, of how good it would feel to snap it, to hear the bones crack and watch the life slip out of his eyes. Death appeals to the _Ombre_. It wants to get out. Anger boils his blood. Claws tear him from the inside, threatening to pour into the room and carve Jung’s body, as it pierced Dawn’s. The memories of the seconds don’t look that terrifying in the dark —but seducing. The _Ombre_ doesn’t want to escape. It wants to get up and run to Jung, to feel the rough, yet sweet, pain of violence, to listen to his heartbeat dying out after a ruthless struggle.

Jeno stays still.

He locks the handcuffs back and drops the hairpin, hoping Jung pulls the trigger before he loses control.

///

“Who are you?”

The voice of Doyoung is ice. A stalactite, cold, and sharp. Jeno didn’t lie when he said the man was terrifying. His eyes are as dark as a moonless night, and keen, as if they can see through any mask and discover any secrets.

“My. Name. Is. Lee. Haechan.” The magician pants, taking deep inhales between each word. Doyoung opens his mouth but Haechan cuts him off. “Jeno is in danger.”

A handsome man with snowy hair steps out of the corner of the room and stands beside Doyoung. _Taeyong_ , Haechan’s memory supplies. The _Shapeshifter_. The magician shrieks against the entry door, towered by Doyoung’s powerful aura.

Rendered breathless by his run through the city to warn them, Haechan feels dizzy. The moment Jung left to capture Jeno, he slipped away from the headquarters. Desperate prayers that a Dragonnard wouldn’t catch him pounded in his mind at the rhythm of his footsteps. Being in Jeno’s living room is weird, and embarrassing, he’s an intruder in his domesticity, and his absence is a knife stabbed in his heart. Doyoung and Taeyong’s deadly stares are two others. Nevertheless, Haechan has to be brave and tell them everything. Because they need to go, and can’t waste another second.

“What happened?” Taeyong looks calm, but urgency veils his voice.

“Where is he?” Doyoung adds.

“It’s Jaehyun, right? He took him away. Motherfucker!”

“Who are you?” Doyoung repeats. Colder. Sharper.

Haechan feels himself crumbling under their stares. Shame twists his throat, but he brings himself to gather the courage to face the truth.

“I’m a Dragonnard.”

Taeyong’s pupils widen, but Doyoung’s face remains as emotionless. Yet, the same fear that chokes Haechan when he’s around Jung, punches him. But stronger. Haechan doesn’t know shit about them, but he can catch a glimpse of a dark and twisted past. Doyoung may protect Jeno, but he doesn’t seem like a good man.

Silence falls for a second, a long, never-ending, second, when Haechan almost regrets he came here, for he wasn’t ready to meet Doyoung, a painful second, when Doyoung only stares at Haechan, his chest lifted by even, but tensed, breathes, as if he’s trying to hold back himself from stabbing Haechan with an excruciating cruel slowness, a terrifying second, when Haechan sees the wrath unfurl in the ink ocean of Doyoung’s eyes, waves of realization crashing anger.

By a precise kick Haechan doesn’t even see coming, Doyoung sweeps him to the ground, taking in the same movement a gun Haechan didn’t notice and points it at him.

“You’re that fucker who talked to him in front of the Reverie,” Doyoung states. Pointlessly, Haechan tries to put distance between him and the barrel placating himself to the door, ignoring the pain in his lower limbs “He was with _you_ these last two days. _You_ were the one calling him earlier tonight.”

Haechan timidly puts his hand in the air, showing both his Dragon burn, and his vulnerability. “Help me save him, please.”

“I don’t need your pathetic self to find him. You should give me a reason not to kill you right now.”

A hand lays on Doyoung’s shoulder. Taeyong looks at the man, undecipherable. Without saying anything, he lowers Doyoung’s arm, breaking Haechan free from the gun.

“We need the spy. It’s impossible Jaehyun still keeps his prisoners where he used to, not after I escaped, and not after Jeno broke into his office.”

Haechan tries to gather himself, his hands shaking and his mouth dry and bitter, looking expectantly at the men in front of him, wondering if they’ll be merciful to him. Two threats Haechan has to turn against Jung. They share a look only they know the meaning of, when Doyoung arches a questioning eyebrow, Taeyong answers with a determined nod.

“We need to go. Now.” Doyoung orders.

As they leave and Doyoung starts to question Haechan ruthlessly, Taeyong shoots him a look. Haechan understands Taeyong didn’t lower the gun to save him, but to keep his revenge for later.

///

Jung shoots between Jeno’s feet, startling the shit out of him.

He laughs. “It's just so easy to scare you.”

He laughs even more when Jeno doesn’t have the energy to lift his head, let alone answer.

The only thing Jeno’s able to see, too bruised and broken to really understand what’s going on anymore, is the black glint on the rifle of Jung’s gun. At this point, he’s almost dead. He’d never thought that someone other than another _Ombre_ could ever pierce through his defenses, his strength, his _power_. But Jung, throughout all the punches, all the cuts, all the bullets fired just to scrape over him, and all the insults, the provocations, the threats, made his way to not only push Jeno on the edge, more and more with every sneer, but he took his soul in his claws and played with it like a toy.

Jeno tries to breathe, but his broken rib is tearing up his lung. He yanks his head back, both because the air comes easier at this angle, and because he’s too exhausted to hold it right anyway. The deep wound on his leg Jung cut earlier pulsates weakly with blood. He’s lost a lot already. Jung took the life out of him and pressed him to the verge of numbness with a manic chuckle and mad light in the eyes.

He keeps the thoughts of Doyoung, Taeyong, and Haechan at bay, instead obsessing over the smell of gunpowder. Pull the trigger, he wants to defy. He wants to piss off Jung, to return the favor in some sort, but, mostly, he wants it all to end. His time with Jung had been hell. On his body. In his mind. Every second had been a burning torture and he wants it to end. The pain. The anger. The fear that the _Ombre_ will come out and destroy everything before his last breath.

Yet, Jung’s all too silent. Jeno doesn’t hear his hand caressing the handle of his gun anymore, doesn’t hear him laugh and doesn’t hear him move. As if he’s contemplating his artwork.

Jeno resists the _Ombre_ one last time.

“Shoot,” he groans. “For real this time.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m loving your enthusiasm, but you’re still going to have to wait. Not just yet, Jeno, not yet.”

The silence that falls again, unbearable, is only broken out by what Jeno figures are typing sounds. Jung is _sending a text_.

After what feels like an eternity, and Jeno almost passing out three times, the door opens slowly, forcing him to move his neck to take a look, and struggling to reveal the figure behind. From the darkness, it appears first with a hand on the knob. Then, the whole body steps into the room.

Despite his split lips, Jeno smiles. Hope brings a relieved sigh to escape him. Everything is clear again.

His light has returned.

Haechan doesn’t grant a glance to Jung, his eyes locked on Jeno, obviously worried. He walks toward him, and Jeno wishes he could stretch his arm to cup his face. His grin grows wider as he inspects the magician without discerning a single trace of harm on him. He’s alive. He’s fine. They’ll get out of here. Jeno can save him. The Dragon doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters anyway.

But Haechan stops. He looks at Jeno one more second, before turning to Jung. The Dragon smirks. For the first time Jeno’s seen, Haechan’s face is deprived of any joy, humour or cockiness. Instead, his bubbly eyes are two hollowed nebulas, his smile has faded into a horrified grimace, and his cute laugh has disappeared to only leave a morbid, empty expression.

He tries to take one more step to join Jeno —before he collapses.

His legs yield under his weight, and he falls to his knees.

Jung’s honeyed voice resonates deep against Jeno’s bones. “I’ve always loved how he looks when he’s scared. Like a terrified doe trapped in my claws. Don’t you think he’s prettier like that, Jeno?”

As Jung speaks, he takes Haechan by the hair, forcing him to face Jeno.

Like a bucket of ice, certainty drenches Jeno and washes the hope away. _He’s always loved how he looks when he’s scared._

“Look at what you’ve done!” Jung sings to Haechan’s ear wickedly. “Face the damages now, you couldn’t do it the first time, you were crying so much. Look at how much you’ve broken him! Don’t you want to apologize?” He lets go of Haechan’s hair, not without ducking his neck before. This time, Haechan doesn’t face the ground and stays still.

Breathless, Jeno can’t bring himself to unlock his gaze from Haechan, as if Jung had vanished, he only wants to hear from his magician. He doesn’t want to believe the lies that sound too real. He won’t. It can’t be.

“Haechan?” He breathes out. “What’s happening?”

Haechan doesn’t speak, eyes brimming with tears and unshed shame.

“Show him. Show him what you’re capable of. Do what you’re best at. Lie.”

The magician shakes a little at Jung’s urging, choosing to look at him rather than Jeno. It hurts. He stands up, Jung following his movements with his eyes, a small, almost proud, smile on his face.

Dust rises from the ground in spirals circling around them. They look bigger and more threatening than they already did. Shadows cast cutting sharp their features, they’re monsters. Haechan pushes up his sleeve to reveal on his forearm the traces of a burning scar outlining a roaring dragon. Jeno doesn’t even wonder how he had hid it from him, despair falling on his shoulders.

Jung’s piercings fade, spreading on his face like scales, and all his rings sharpens to become claws. He laughs, showing instead of teeth, a prominent range of fangs. Terrified, Jeno seeks automatically Haechan for comfort, but all he finds is an inhumane figure staring at him, skin glowing white, black smoke coming out of his eyes and rising in the air like the horns of a devil. And, next to the demon, a gigantic dragon has taken shape. Viridian like greed, heat dripping from his reddening chest, his groans so loud the walls vibrate. Something tells Jeno that this is a nightmare. Jung is a _Soufre_ , not a _Shapeshifter_ , neither an _Illusionist_. Something tells him he got too broken and is now hallucinating. But something else tells him it’s the truth.

“You’re a Dragonnard.” He lets out, hoarse. “An _Illusionist_.”

Saying it out loud makes it real. It sinks in his mind as heavily as his heart falls to his feet.

A cavernous sound rises from Haechan’s throat, barely humane. “Do you remember the explosion of the Velvets’ headquarters?”

“You were the one hiding him.” Jeno’s voice is shaking. “You helped take all those lives.” The demon doesn’t yield, doesn’t flinch, his dark eyes unremitting and unforgiving. 

“And I took so many others.”

The Dragon growls, and the illusion disappears at his command. Haechan comes back as what he really is, a scared young man, but Jung looks less like himself in human form.

Jeno’s heart beats weak, but heavy in his chest. Painfully.

Jung snickers as he walks around him. “See what you’ve fallen for, idiot. A liar, a spy, a murderer —a traitor.” This time, Haechan winces. “He lied to you. He was never true to you. He wore a pretty mask and you fell for it. The _Illusionist_ hid the real him from you! The magician showed you his charms, his tricks, and his fake beauty all to catch you. The ruthless Dragonnard with only one regret obeyed me and took everything from you. And the selfish boy betrayed you.”

Jeno searches for remorses in Haechan, but if he has some, he shows none. He’s a statue of a cold vacancy.

“Isn’t that true, Haechannie?” Jung goes on. “Tell Jeno who you really are.”

“A liar. A spy. A murderer. A traitor.”

“Perfect, perfect, perfect.” Jung grins as he looks at Jeno, viciously revealing in his evident hurt.

Slowly, he skirts around Haechan before he puts the gun in his hand. With an imperious stare and a firm fist, he forces him to take it. Then, he moves between him and Jeno, lifting Haechan’s arm like a delicate puppeteer, his ragdoll doesn’t show any resistance. Finally, he steps backward, both giving Haechan a perfect shot, and gazing at them like a mad artist would revel in their creation. 

Haechan’s arm is locked, pointing directly at Jeno’s heart. He’s trembling a little, but his joints are white around the gun and his finger lays right on the trigger. 

“Remember what I told you earlier?” Jung asks, his voice more poisonous than ever. “You’re a bit wrecked, you probably don’t… I said Haechan had been a useful bait and will be a great spectator of your death. Well, I lied. Again. Your precious Dragonnard will be the trigger.”

Haechan glances at the door, maybe thinking about escaping. Maybe he’ll drop the weapon, and run away, leaving Jeno to his fate.

“Shoot me,” Jeno groans faintly, his voice rendered hoarse by the screams. He’s on the verge of passing out anyway, he’s given up already and if his death can help someone, let it be Haechan. And, despite everything, he doesn’t want to suffer. His body is on fire, and looking at Haechan is a million blades tearing his soul apart . He wants it to end.

A few long seconds, when nothing happens. Haechan doesn’t move. Jeno holds his breath.

But the Dragonnard is weak, so weak, Jeno can watch him gradually crumble.

Haechan sobs. An uggly hiccup shakes his chest and two big tears roll down his cheeks.

His fingers open delicately. 

The gun drops to the floor.

The indignation on Jung’s face is simply terrifying. He shoots glances from Jeno to Haechan, probably hesitating who he’s going to reduce to ashes first. His first move is to throw himself at the floor to take the gun, but, suddenly, he immobilizes. Locked in an intermediate, strange, position, he stays motionless, his eyes hitched to the darkness.

Nerves drawn to life, Jeno turns his head to see what got Jung so scared, and there, he sees it.

Two yellow eyes glowing in the dark, blade-like fangs shining, and powerful muscles rolling under white-and-grey fur, a gigantic wolf emerges. His threatening growl thunders in the room. Jeno could cry out of relief. Taeyong is here. Taeyong will fight for him.

The room stays still in a gut-wrenching tension. Jung’s breath is tense, unever, his heart pounds frantically and his face is as pale as a sheet, as if he’s seen a ghost. When he inches his arm for a split second, it seems like he’s reaching for Taeyong. Jeno looks at Haechan in interrogation, but the Dragonnard mirrors his question. They’re missing out on something.

Exhaustion takes over Jeno, Haechan’s apparition having emptied his last resources. Now that Taeyong is here, he’s safe. He bends his head back again, desperately reaching for air. His burns and broken bones are killing him, but not as much as the blood dripping from his wound does. Jeno lets go, and enters the confusing haze reaching for him.

————

Jung snaps out of his shock.

He dives to pick up the gun. Stands up. Ready to fight, ready to kill, and ready to take back what's his. The wolf doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink, but keeps walking toward him. Inexorable. When Jung understands his lack of fear, it’s too late. The knife is already pressed against his throat. A drop of blood slides against the blade.

“Enter the dragon,” a cold, familiar, voice whispers in his ears, sending shivers of terror down Jung’s spine. An old reflex. He doesn’t dare to move in the slightest.

Then invisible, Doyoung steps out of the darkness, allowing Jung to see the fingers on the handle on the dagger. When the wolf reaches their level, he stops and tenses, ready to jump at Jung’s throat. His open jaws, baring his fangs, betray his craving to do so.

Jung’s panting. Panic creeps in him as he realizes what’s happening. Doyoung and Taeyong, people who he’d learned to dread, are joining forces to take with them an _Ombre_. He has to stop them. He has to take back what he owns. 

“This whole time he was with _you_?!” Jung seethes, full of anger. Taeyong should be _his_.

“I smell some jealousy.” Doyoung mocks.

“You took him away from me!”

“Don’t worry, he left you on his own.”

“Who left Jung?” Jeno croaks out. The kid’s eyes are closed, and he looks like he could be dead already. Yet he’s still fighting to stay conscious. Jung thinks he might have a chance. 

He opens his mouth.

“Say one more word and I’ll cut your throat.” Doyoung interrupts, tightening his grip around Jung. The metal is cold against his skin

“ _Oh_.” Delightful. “So you don’t want him to know!” 

Doyoung seems to have forgotten Crime 101. Never look at the safe. Jung can’t see him, but he feels his anger radiating.

“What…” The kid coughs, pitiful. “What the fuck is he talking about?”

“Well you see, Taeyong and Doyoung once were—”

Jung chokes before he can answer. A man of his words, Doyoung pressed the blade deeper, cutting his skin like butter. Thick and warm, blood drips his throat. It’s a shallow cut, but it’s enough to drive him mad. In _years_ , never had anyone the audacity to even come near him. For a reason.

His hand flies. He catches Doyoung’s wrist, making sure Taeyong sees the infuriating smug smile he plasters on his face. Now, he can blow them up in a second if he wishes. He’ll die with them. Slashing someone’s throat in a last second of lucidity couldn’t be more in character for Doyoung, and Taeyong would behead him in a bat of an eye. Jung knows how to recognize when he’s lost control over someone. But now, they’re even. Wouldn’t Taeyong be happy.

“What? You’re pissed I’m revealing all of your dirty little secrets, Kim? You’re afraid of your shady past now?”

Jeno wheezes hoarsely, and it’s probably the only thing that prevents Doyoung from cutting him open.

“Haechan.” He calls, the tremor in his voice is lovely to Jung’s ears. “Untie him. We’re getting out of here _right now_.”

The blade slides off Jung’s throat without worsening his wound. He lets them go, fighting the wrath inside him with all the control he has. He can’t kill them without falling with them, and he’s worth better than this. His powerlessness drives him crazy, but the prospect of winning later keeps him still, calm enough to watch them leave. Because it’s a cruel game he won’t lose, Taeyong will pay with his blood his audacity, Haechan will regret his weakness, and Jeno and Doyoung their pride. He’ll get them later. They will all cry his name.

///

The car flies through the streets. Not caring about any limitations, cars, or passersby, Doyoung drives at full speed. It’s not that Haechan is scared of an accident —Doyoung is impressive enough for him to be assured he knows what he’s doing— but the sight of Jeno, curled up next to him on the rear seat, white like death, and his blood staining the leather, terrifies him.

The thought of him dying, tonight, right here, makes him want to bawl his eyes out, to hold onto him tightly and never let go. To give his life for him if he has to. So desperately, he wants to reach out, to stroke his hair, take his hand and share his warmth. But he can’t.

_Liar. Spy. Murderer. Traitor._

He hadn’t batted an eyelid when he had seen Garance’s long golden hair, dirtied by sweat, cascading down her shoulders, painfully reminiscent of his sister. He hadn’t weakened when she had begged him for forgiveness, howling to death for her nightmares to cease. He hadn’t trembled when he’d pushed a blade through her throat, ending her life in a wheeze and a bloody gurgling.

But when he saw Jeno tied up to this chair, dried blood covering his face and the eyes empty of any strength —he collapsed. No matter how strong and indifferent he thought he was, he was proven wrong, crushed by guilt.

Doyoung pulls out his phone and types a number without even looking at the screen. On speakers, it rings once… twice… The person on the other end of the line doesn’t answer. Doyoung goes to call again before the phone’s snatched from his hand.

“You are _not_ making a call while driving.” Taeyong startles Haechan, but Doyoung stays perfectly focused on the road.

“We don’t have a second to waste. We need the second we get to the apartment.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He says before adding, “May I?”

Doyoung sighs, sparing an exasperated glance at him. “Go ahead.”

Like every other ten seconds, Haechan checks Jeno’s breathing. It’s shallow and uneven, but there. Taeyong had asked him to warn him if anything changes in Jeno’s state, as he had made sure both of them were at least approximately well buckled up. For now, nothing has changed. Haechan is still dumbfounded they didn’t leave him with Jung.

Taeyong dials the number. It rings only once before the person answers.

“Doyoung is calling me! The world is ending!” A loud, slightly robotic, voice resonates in the car, Taeyong not bothering to put him off speakers. “And here I thought you had cut me out of your life.”

“Hi, Yuta. It’s very nice to hear you.”

“Yongie! What a pleasant surprise. Before you say anything, dear, let me guess… You need my help.”

“We don’t have time for this…” Doyoung mumbles so low Haechan barely catches it.

Taeyong smiles, defeated. “Yes, we do, and it’s exceptionally urgent. A matter of life and death, in fact.”

“Hm-hm.”

“Yuna’s still your assistant, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Perfect. Can you two be at our apartment in twenty minutes?”

“We’re on our way.”

///

When Jeno wakes up, at first he doesn’t believe it. As he was passing out, and felt his heart dying out in his chest, he’d realized he’d underestimated the severity of his wounds. He remembers th e haze, the pain and the throbbing, but mostly the confusion. A doubt that hurt him more than Jung’s violence and Haechan’s betrayal. When Doyoung tried to silence the Dragon.

It hurts. He opens his eyes with great difficulty, and notices that the couch he’s laying on is the one of his living room. He’s home. As he gains consciousness, he’s struck by confusion. Who’s the girl slumped on the armchair next to him, sleeping with blood on her hands and forearms? Whose voice is it that he hears along Taeyong and Doyoung’s one? Why does Jeno barely feel any pain in his body? And why, the hell, is Haechan standing in the darkness of a corner?

They share a glance, for a second, before Haechan avoids the questions in his eyes.

“He’s awake,” he calls instead for the people talking in the kitchen. “Doyoung got you another set of clothes.” He adds, gesturing at the pile of neatly folded clothes on the coffee table.

He’s suddenly very aware that he’s laying in his underwear, only covered by a blanket. Haechan has the decency to look away as he puts on the black T-shirt and pants. His wounds are closed, but the red circles on his wrist.

The conversation in the kitchen has faded, and three people join the living-room. Taeyong, his face tensed by fear, Doyoung, impervious like marble as always, and a third man, with flaming red hair, heavily white-wired ovale sunglasses resting on his forehead, earring tickling on his ears, and a dazzling smile. They all sit onto the couch in front of Jeno. The girl in the armchair sprawls lazily before imitating them watching Jeno as if… as if he’d just escaped death.

“Who are you?” He rasps out at the man.

“My name’s Yuta, I’m Doyoung’s big brother and delighted to meet you! You have no idea for how long I’ve waited. Right, Doie?” Doyoung glares at him, and Jeno almost scoffs as he watches Yuta ignoring him like it’s nothing. Doyoung looks like he’d murder him on the spot. 

“Why the black clothes, brother? That’s unusual, it’s a pity you’re not showing your true self to Jeno.” Doyoung asks but the thrill of his voice tells Jeno that while already knowing the answer, he’s provoking Yuta.

The room turns cruelly cold as Yuta’s smile vanishes, turning into a scowl. “You know why.” He sneers.

Jeno’s overwhelmed by an ache, some sort of a blur despair, and the knowledge that he’s _missing_ something, even if he doesn't know what, or who. The bitter taste of regrets and remorses fills his mouth as he grows colder and colder, everything has turned gray, and heavy. It’s easy to recognize the intoxicating power of a _Crystallizor_ , especially when you’ve been subjected to the influence of one already, and as he sees Haechan and Taeyong shudder, Jeno realizes that Yuta is showing everyone his reason. There’s a sadness in the man’s eyes he didn’t notice, a tired spark, like the last ashes of a dead fire.

“Anyway!” He turns back to Jeno and the cold bitter feeling disappears, replaced by his wide grin. “Let me introduce you to the lovely Yuna.”

“‘Sup.” The girl greets.

Jeno observes her more intently. Her light pink hair is tied in a messy, ugly ponytail and wild strands stick to her forehead, as if she sweated a lot. The blood layered on her forearms and brushed on her face is thin and dry, like it’s someone else’s.

“I’d thank her if I were you,” Yuta whispers, as if Jeno’s the only one who can hear him. “She just spent two hours saving your life.”

Jeno looks at her. Then Yuta. Her. Him. Her.

“She’s a _Healer_.”

“Healing smile, healing assistant.” Yuta shoots him a wink and a grin as a clear demonstration.

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “Let’s cut the crap. Jeno, how are you feeling?”

He could laugh at that. There are no words for what he feels like. He has no idea himself.

So, he simply raises his chest. He can do that. He sits up on the couch, his rib no longer shredding his lung. Carefully, he moves his arm. Afraid that any wrong move will cause great pain, he tests the muscles —but nothing comes. He places a hand on the shoulder Jung dislocated. It’s been set in place. He bends the knee —the tear on his leg he half-expected from his wound doesn’t happen. A relieved sigh crosses his lips. He looks at his wrists, and the relief vanishes. The burns left by the handcuffs still circle his wrists.

“Thank you,” he says to Yuna, genuine.

“Anytime.” She winks. She’s very similar to her boss, Jeno thinks. “I don’t know _Ombres_ ’ metabolism as well as regular people’s, but you’ll be exhausted for the next few weeks.”

“That sounds about right.” He smiles weakly.

“Also, tell me pronto if you experience any kind of dizziness, nausea, cold sweats, or abnormal thirst.”

“Sure.”

“...I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything for the burns though.”

Jeno shakes his head. She doesn’t have to be sorry. He looks at her, trying to express all the gratefulness he has for her instead. Without any words, she gets it, and gives him a slight smile, neither sorry or worried, but an understanding one.

There’s a glass of water on the table. He’s pretty sure it just appeared out of nowhere, and everyone was too focused on him to notice. He drinks it whole while adjusting his position to sit properly on the couch and confront the men in front of him.

“So. Isn’t any of you gonna explain what the fuck was all that?”

“We should go,” Yuta says both to Yuna and Haechan. They leave in silence and close the kitchen’s door when they’re all in.

Taeyong and Doyoung look like they’d bury themselves, rather than answering his question.

“Listen… we owe you an explanation.” Taeyong starts off.

“We lied to you.”

Even if Jeno expected it, Doyoung’s bluntness is an electric shock.

“My brother’s existence isn’t the only thing I’ve hidden from you for the last seven years. We were never lawyers. Taeyong doesn’t possess information crucial to Jung’s survival.”

“You used to be Dragonnards,” Jeno states, torn between anger and an overwhelming emptiness.

It seems so obvious now. Trust had blinded him, and stupidity comforted him with the lies, because, of course, living in Brume makes you learn tricks the hard way, but how come Doyoung knew how to pick locks and fight so well? How come Taeyong had so much knowledge on the gang’s operation? 

“Not exactly.”

“What then?!”

“I’ve known Jaehyun for years,” Taeyong says softly. “He was my boyfriend before I even met Doyoung or Yuta. We were poor, had nothing but each other, and I was so sure we were in love. The Dragonnards didn’t exist yet, the Dragon… Let’s say the Dragon wasn’t born yet. We lived in dust and crimes, risking our lives everyday to have something to eat. When Doyoung appeared in our lives, he blew them up, and Brume with it. Even if I was in the front row, I’m still not sure to understand how he did that, but he turned the gangs against each other and climbed the ladder one step at a time. Brick by brick, he built up an empire. Jaehyun and I helped him.”

Doyoung speaks up. “Ten years ago, I came to Brume after escaping a boarding school. I had just become an adult and, just like Yuta, I wanted revenge on our dad. He used to own the biggest bank in Landres, the one Yuta holds now with many other things. I had a plan. And I executed it. I didn’t become the most respected man in Brume, but the most feared threat. I gathered little gangs divided by petty squabbles and made it into the army I used to destroy my parent’s lives when it was time. I never fought for Brume, never for the people, and never for a greater purpose. All I’ve ever wanted was revenge, and by any means.”

Jeno stands up. He runs his hand through his hair, trying to make sense of the mess he’s learning about. His footsteps are the only sound resonating in the room as he paces back and forth. They’re both staring at him, waiting for an answer, or, at least, the hint of an emotion.

But he’s a storm. He doesn’t hear or see anything but the echoes of all the violence he’s experienced in the last week. He can’t think of anything else, but the distortion of reality. Images of Doyoung laughing with a knife in his fist. Doyoung, stabbing, shooting, torturing, choking, the innocent. Doyoung surrounded by reddening gold. Doyoung looking over the burning city. Doyoung and the smell of ashes. Doyoung smirking, blood on his lips and shining piercings on the nose and ears.

Rage burns him.

“Are you telling me that the Dragon, the original Dragon, was _you_?!”

“If you mean that I am the creator and the original leader of the gang Jung named the Dragonnards, then yes. But the real Dragon, although, is Taeyong.”

He’s going to end up mad crazy before the night ends. A feverish laugh shakes him. His nerves threaten to break.

“Get your fucking facts together and stop playing with words. _Explain_. _Now_.”

“I told you I thought Jaehyun and I were in love. It was a lie, ironically enough, an illusion of his.” Taeyong’s voice is soft and warm, like cotton. Jeno hates it. Jeno hates that he wants to let go and sob on his shoulder, forgetting all of the pain and the fear. Anger boils in him, stirred by betrayal, yet he’s terrified of what Taeyong’s about to say.

But Taeyong doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gets up, and Jeno doesn’t help but catch the worry on Doyoung’s face. Without a word, Taeyong pulls off his shirt, exposing his chest. His skin is pale and smooth.

“Like many other things, I’ve hid from you my true form.”

Before Jeno can understand, it shifts.

Taeyong’s eyes lose the sweet comfort of their chocolate color to reveal the wild iridescent gold Jeno’s seen in the darkness. His features sharpen, and his hair darkens into black. But none of this is what strikes Jeno.

The scars.

Covering Taeyong’s entire body, burns in the shape of hands, palms, fingers. His skin is withered with marks of horror. Traces of bursts of anger and excruciating hours, followed by crocodiles tears and worthless apologies. Mirrors from the past of possession, lies, manipulation, fake love and false promises.

“He reduced me to nothing. To a toy. To a Dragonnard when I am the Dragon. He owned me, and I couldn’t leave as myself. I’ve tried, several times. But he caught me. And burned me. He reduced me to ashes. But I figured…” Taeyong chuckles bitterly, his eyes glistening. “I figured a dragon wouldn’t burn.”

“The Dragon of July…” Jeno murmurs in disbelief.

A shriek in the sky. Wind storming. Fire embracing the city.

“And he took that away from me too.”

Jung, the fire. Jung, the Dragon. Jung the Destroyer.

Taeyong smiles sadly, and in his eyes, Jeno sees it all. A dragon flying in the blazing sky, burning a building to its roots. The legend of Brume. Not an illusion, but Taeyong who was strong enough to break free, and powerful enough to defy the laws of nature. Before Jung stole it, made it his. Jeno’s thoughts fall back on Haechan’s forearm, burned to trace the shape of a dragon. His sign of belonging.

“What did he do to you?” Jeno whispers harshly.

“Terrible things, and made me do horrible stuff. But I was somebody before him, and I made my own choices. I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing, but he wasn’t the one teaching me violence. I’ve known the taste of blood way before him.”

Jeno drops back on the couch, heavy. Taeyong puts his shirt back on, and returns to the appearance Jeno’s always known him, soft and untouched. He’s calmer, while it’s still difficult, almost impossible, to process his emotions and coming to his terms with the new information. The blur of the previous hours sharpen little by little, though. The events make more sense, but couldn’t feel more absurd. Doyoung incarnated all the evil in Brume. Taeyong is the Dragon.

“Jung was afraid of you.”

Jeno digs his eyes into Doyoung’s. The man is calm, and collected, as if nothing happened. Jeno remembers hearing the hitch of Jung’s breath. The leader of the Dragonnards had been rendered paralyzed, trapped, and powerless for a second. Just because of Doyoung.

“Of course he was. I used to be his boss. He tried many times to win over me, but I was always stronger. The only reason he’s the head of the gang now is because I vanished. I cut all ties with my people, the gang —everything.”

“Why?”

His throat is dry. His head spins. If Doyoung was all-powerful, why did he disappear? Why did the king of crimes abandon his kingdom to a sociopath? Jeno thinks of Doyoung’s dark eyes, and darker mind. Did he really train Jeno for anything? Just because he asked? Is Jeno fighting Doyoung’s war in his place, taking back a throne without realizing it? Is Doyoung using the _Ombre_ for something else? He had the city, hence the whole country, does he want something more? Rheingen, the Rechte’s empire?

For the first time in the seven years Jeno’s known him, Doyoung looks down.

“You.”

“Me?” 

“Do you remember when we met? You had read somewhere that lilies were toxic for cats, and had seen some on my window, next to my cat.” Doyoung glances at Taeyong, who smiles at him. Usually, he’s fond of their wordless conversations. Right now, it drives him crazy. “So you’d climbed three stories and broke into my apartment because you were afraid the cat would get poisoned. In fact, you had been petting him for weeks, and Yongie kept it a secret.”

A slight smile finds its way to Jeno’s lips, half nostalgic, half bitter. Yeah, he vividly remembers meeting Doyoung. It scared the shit out of him. The man was covered in blood and pointed a gun at his chest —to a thirteen years old’s chest, without the slightest hesitation. He chuckles out of nerves. How didn’t he see it coming? 

He also recalls telling Doyoung —after the man had settled the kid wasn’t a threat and gave him some apple juice— that he had troubles with the kids at the orphanage and that Mrs. Pimper had forbidden him to defend himself, ever, and locked him up at night. Doyoung had advised him to threaten that his big brother would beat their ass. Jeno told him he didn’t have any. Obviously, otherwise why would he be in the orphanage in the first place? Doyoung insured him he’d show up then.

“And I remember… I remember thinking to myself that you were too good for the streets of Brume. Inevitably, someone would take you from the orphanage and make you an assassin in the dirt. I didn’t want that.”

Jeno doesn’t want to believe him, as sweet and heartwarming his words are. He’s tired. He’s tired or the lies, of the darkness, and of the perversity. Tonight, he’s been proved that his trust and his faith are worthless, and he doesn’t want to fall back into the trap again. He wants the truth and he wants to end it. End everything and run away. Leave everyone behind. He’s tired.

“Are you _really_ trying to make me believe you sent away all of your power to protect me?! That you had _everything_ but you just, gave up on your life, just to take care of me?!”

“It doesn’t always take a monster to kill a monster.”

The silence sinks in.

Jeno would like to retort something, but he’s left speechless. Doyoung’s words echo in his mind, clearing the storm. Calmness soothes him. Suddenly, he’s empty of any determination. Painfully stuck into the present. Taeyong and Doyoung still look like strangers.

“You need to know one more.” Doyoung says.

“What? Are you gonna tell me you’ve murdered my parents now?” Jeno deadpans.

“No. Of course not. But it’s about them. I did some research after what you told me. And they didn’t abandon you, they placed you in the orphanage, not because they wanted to protect themselves, but you. They owed an insane amount of money to my father’s bank and refused that their debts would fall back on you. They wanted a roof over your head, and a meal at your table —things they couldn’t offer.”

“Are they…?”

“Alive?”

Jeno nods.

“No. Unfortunately, they died of hunger shortly after they placed you.”

A tear rolls on his cheek. He’s always known his parents were dead —at least dead to him— but a sparkle of hope had crept into his heart, only to devastate it more as it died out. At least, they weren’t afraid of him…

“Jeno,” Taeyong speaks up, soft and warm, “we’re sorry.”

“Yeah. You’re sorry. And for what? Sorry for my parents? Thank you. Thank you very much.” Jeno snaps. “But are you sorry for the others? Do you feel guilty for the people you’ve pushed into addiction? And for the ones you’ve enslaved in brothels? Are you sorry for the corpses? The begging children in the streets? The rapes, the deaths and the despair? How do you two sleep, knowing you’ve enabled the monster in the city? For living when you’ve killed Brume?”

It’s a cry of the heart, and a cry of the soul. He needs answers to trust them again, something that would justify all the violence. Maybe, he could live with them, maybe he could face the _Ombre,_ if only there was a reason.

“There was a time when I didn’t feel guilty.” Taeyong answers, not loud, but fierce. “Why would have I been? The whole city wasn’t only dark, but poisoned, cruel and ruthless. I was cursed, with nothing but myself to survive. A life —a real life, I mean— wasn't a privilege anyone outside the walls would even dare to dream of. Nobody could simply live. We were all damned here, enslaved by poverty. 

“Why would have I been guilty? If I had to steal to stay alive, so it was. If I had to throw people on the streets, so it was. If I had to lacerate a mother in front of her son, then so it was. Despite this, every day, and I mean, _every day_ , I feared that a blade would slit my throat, or that a bullet would rip through my chest. Brume was full of hunting prey, and empty of predators. What you need to understand is that, at the time, there was nothing life offered me. Or to anybody. We had to rip tiny bits of gold from a cold body’s dead hands. Me. Jaehyun. It wasn’t a choice, but a necessity.

“Nobody could have ever wanted to live in this place. But we had to. And we had to accept the blood on our hands, or spiralling into madness —and die with the mouth open. You couldn’t be bad, for you couldn’t be good. You couldn’t be good, for you couldn’t be bad. There’s no place for such abstract concepts when you’re fighting for your life. So, tell me, Jeno, why would have I been guilty? Why should I be now?”

Taeyong pauses, takes a breath. If Jung is an explosion, sudden and destructive, Taeyong is a tsunami, slowly withdrawing in the calm, threatening, only to people who’ve seen his power before, and crushing the world when he slams —devastating. Jeno’s overwhelmed.

“You’re lucky, Jeno. You have the chance to choose to be good. Doyoung gave me this opportunity seven years ago, when he offered me a shelter, the same way he gave it to you.”

It’s true. He’s seen himself the misery outside the walls, and the corruption inside. Doyoung gave him a life far away from this, taking him out of the orphanage, and teaching him at home all he needed to know. And, to be fair, he never pushed Jeno to train to be an assassin, but just to catalyze his energy.

Maybe, maybe he should accept their past and their darkness, and embrace the light they became.

Jeno has a choice. Either to keep struggling with morality and die out before he wipes out the darkness, either to accept his own shadow and use it efficiently. It’s risky, but the night grows, dangerous. If he doesn’t control it, it will swallow him. Rejecting it has been proven useless, anyway.

His eyes fall on the burns on his wrists. They’ll stay for a long time, if not forever. Jung’s marks on him, like Haechan’s burn, like Taeyong’s scars. Anger suddenly blazes in him, like a wildfire. He regrets not ripping Jung open when he had the chance. This time, he knows it’s not the _Ombre_ thirsting for violence, but himself, craving to let his blades talk with Jung. A pleasant, polite conversation to avenge every soul he’s ever wronged. To make him feel all the pain at once. For it to hurt so badly, he crumbles under the despair. 

“Let’s kill this bitch.”

He startles Taeyong and Doyoung. The two share a glance, before Taeyong asks.

“So… you’re not mad?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll process that later.” Jeno brushes off, careful to keep the fire burning in his chest. “We had to take action tonight, before he gets the time to recuperate.”

“He will though. He’s probably already infested the city with Dragonnards and _Oeils_ to find us. He’s bitter and doesn’t stand losing.”

“Now that he knows you’re with me, he won’t use anything you could know about. Our only chance is to reciprocate, not allow him to see from where we’re coming…” Jeno bites his nails. “Do you trust Haechan?”

It hurts to ask, the wounds are as fresh as the memories, but they have to use every possible asset of theirs.

“He escaped Jung to warn us you were trapped.” Doyoung states simply.

“Right.”

The boy is not making it easy. Jeno sees how he’s shown himself with Jung. A monster, vile and selfish that had manipulated him to throw him into the Dragon’s jaws. Something that had been ready to kill him.

“Does Yuta have any means or information that could help us?”

“That’s why the fucker is here,” Doyoung rolls his eyes. “I could have found another _Healer_.”

“Not as good as Yuna,” Taeyong objects.

“True.”

“Why does he even need a _Healer_ as an assistant?” Jeno wonders. “Isn’t he a regular businessman?”

Doyoung smirks. “He has one for the exact same reasons he’s here…”

“...He likes to play with explosives.” Taeyong completes.

Jeno stands up, probably mirroring the smugness of Taeyong’s smile, to look for the others in the kitchen so they can establish a plan.

The irony of what’s preparing is delicious.

///

The armory is a big room, filled with all types of weapons, gadgets and accessories, but yet it still doesn’t feel big enough to fit the silence between Jeno and Haechan. They’re alone here. Doyoung had equipped himself first, and then Jeno told Haechan it was their turn, Jeno probably waiting to help Haechan. Right now, Doyoung is in the IT room setting up the details of the operation with Taeyong, while Yuta is on his way to pick up the material and Yuna has fallen asleep on the couch of the living-room. It’s a huge apartment Jeno lives in, and while it would have seemed perfectly normal to Haechan when he was a kid, now he finds himself lost in such space and comfort.

Jeno straps two utility belts on his chest, making sure the daggers are well in place. Haechan pretends like he doesn’t exist, looking absentmindedly at the guns hung on the wall in front of him.

Being around Jeno is suffocating. It’s both the delicate flutter of lips on skin, both a punch to the guts. A reminder of how Haechan felt accepted and loved, before the guilt chokes him. He doesn't deserve to be near Jeno, who’s too good for his own safety.

“Do you know how to fire a gun?” Jeno startles him.

Is it a joke or a cruel reminder of Haechan’s attempt at shooting him? Considering Jeno’s dryness, Haechan decides to simply take in the rightfully earned jab. He glances at him, and nods slightly. But even with an answer, Jeno doesn’t stop looking at him, waiting for something.

“I’m hesitating between the Glock and the revolver…” Haechan adds, unsure. “I’m not used to having so many choices.”

“Well, Glock is definitely heavier than the revolver, but it has a longer range.” Jeno takes the guns from the wall and places them in Haechan’s hands.

Their fingers brush around the cold steel. They don’t say anything.

Haechan weighs the guns, before placing the revolver back on the wall. He puts the Glock in the belt they lent him with the other equipment.

“Don’t wanna miss the shot this time.”

There’s no way to tell if Jeno is actually angry, for his words are sour like venom, but his face is frozen in the same kind impassible expression.

“Listen,” Haechan lets out, heavy with guilt. “I’ll disappear the moment Jung’s dead. I promise. You won’t have to bear my sight. I’ll leave Brume.”

Actually, when free of Jung’s grisp, he has no idea what he’s going to do. He has no money, no contacts, nothing, outside of Brume. His father never looked for him after he and Youngsun disappeared, he doesn’t think he’ll be welcome back at home. His only plan is to get on a train and join Brume’s countryside. He’s heard the little town Marne was ugly as hell, but had nice beaches. That will do.

Jeno shakes his head.

“Why are you helping us?”

The question surprises him, and he doesn’t know how to answer. Truth is, he wants to redeem himself, but that, Jeno mustn’t know. He looks away.

“Because Taeyong and Doyoung will kill me if I don’t.”

Jeno tilts his head, trying to catch Haechan’s eyes as he’s methodically avoiding him. “That’s not true. You could vanish right now, create some illusions to distract us and leave Brume. Doyoung and Taeyong won’t follow you if I tell them not to.”

“And would you?”

“Only if you ask me to.”

Maybe he will. To protect Jeno, he has to get away from him, but as selfless as he’s trying to be a part of him still yearns for the idea of forgiveness. Maybe he wouldn’t ask.

As his only answer, Haechan takes another blade.

“Jung didn’t know about Doyoung and Taeyong,” Jeno persists nonetheless. “But I told you about them. You lied to him.”

No. Jeno can’t do that. He can’t put his trust in Haechan again. Didn't he get the consequences the first time? Haechan sighs deeply, rubbing his face. He looks up at Jeno and locks their eyes, without hesitation, fierce. He needs to get his point across, if he wants to get it himself.

“Stop.” He spits out. “Stop this. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Let me go.”

“And I don’t deserve to be lied to —again.” Jeno answers, soft, but clear and strong. “It’s not forgiveness I seek to give you, but the opportunity to be honest.”

“Have you missed something tonight?! Do you remember when Jung almost tortured you to death because of me?! When I had a gun pointed at you?!”

Abruptly, Jeno rolls up his sleeves, displaying the burning circles of his wrists. The burns will last forever, like the dragon on his forearm will.

“I promise that the memories won’t ever disappear. But do you know what else I remember? The gun dropping. Taeyong and Doyoung coming to save me. And you, when I woke up. So, what you’re going to do, Haechan, is tell me everything. So cut the lies. Who are you? A traitor? A savior? Let me be the judge. Stop pretending.”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Haechan’s voice trembles.

“Tell me who you are. Because I don’t believe you’ve lied to me all along.”

He wants to tell Jeno everything about, not only because of what happened, but because he wants to believe the light Jeno seems to see is real. Because being with Jeno would feel like home and because he knows he’d take him in his arms. Because the pain in his heart won’t ever ease unless he shares his burden. Because he can see the storm of doubt and fear in Jeno’s eyes —and the pain. He wants to tell him that no, he hasn't lied to him all along, that the laughter, the playful smirk, the banter, the tenderness, the confessions, weren’t fake, but Haechan falling in love with him. But it’d be too easy.

“I was thirteen when I joined the Dragonnards. Jung recruited me because I’m an _Illusionist_. When I was fourteen, I got my first mission. It should have been easy, a simple robbery simple, but it turned shitty because I was arrogant and inexperienced. It was the first time I killed. From there, it escalated quickly. Jung doesn’t tolerate weakness. I went to do more and more missions, brought more and more money to Jung, to prove him I was an asset. One day, another _Illusionist_ came to town from the countryside. He was a little older than me and was creating impressive showcases on the streets to earn money. I didn’t need to ask any question to know that if Jung recruited him, I was gone. So I killed him. I broke into his apartment and shot him. Now, do you still wonder about me? Do you know how many throats I’ve slit? Do you know how many backs I’ve stabbed?”

“Why did you join?”

Haechan pauses, pondering on whether to lie or not. “I needed the money and I was alone in Brume.”

Technically, it’s true.

“I said cut the fucking lies. What happened?”

“Something doesn’t always happen.”

“But it did. Right?” It’s a surreal feeling, the way Haechan can feel, almost sense Jeno’s empathy, how he can say confidently they have the same gaping hole in the heart. “You told me you had a sister.”

The flutter of hesitation, a last moment of peaceful tension, before Haechan’s last defenses break violently.

He takes a huge, shaking, breath. “Her name was Youngsun.” His throat forms a knot and his knees weaken. He shrinks on himself. “Coming from our hometown in Cicadelia, we’d just arrived in Brume, we were immature, and thought everything was going to be fine. She was beautiful, funny, smart, and young, and arrogant. She was older than me, and everything I had. She had some business to do for our father, and then we’d go back home.

“It was a training for her to succeed with hard work and hard negotiations. And she did, we could’ve gone home, but I begged her to stay in Brume for a little longer, because it was _so fun_. So we did. We went out to casinos and played, and played, and played, because it was so fun —and then we lost. I see now that she was like Jung, and like me, she always wanted more, and she burnt her wings.

“So I did the only thing I knew to do: I created illusions. Fake money, so we could still play. Of course, Jung —he was the one ruling the casinos at the time— noticed it and gave us the fear of our life. Or so we thought. From that moment, she owned Jung money. A lot. She didn’t want to come back to dad and ask for money, she was too prideful. Dad would have killed her, she said. So when Jung offered to pull a job to pay off her debt, she agreed immediately. It was fun, playing with a gang. But she fucked up. Of course she did, it was a set-up. I learned later that Jung had his eyes on me, the _Illusionist_. So, she fucked up, royally, and Jung doesn’t forgive. He called us in the headquarters, both of us.”

Haechan stops, feeling the tears pouring on his cheeks. He looks at Jeno, and his assumption from before is confirmed, he finds in him all the comfort he ever needed to go on.

“Not only did he kill her, he tortured her until her last sigh. Gave her rest, so her body wouldn’t give up as he burned every single piece of her. Right before my eyes. She begged him to let me go, but the only thing he did was to laugh louder. He— He destroyed her. He…”

Haechan’s shaking, his voice is croaking, his words erratic, and he feels like his legs are going to give up at any moment. He’d thought that if he still had some sort of tender feelings for his past, Garance was the death of it. She’d crushed them without mercy with heart-shattering imploring and her long sunny hair. He was wrong. Digging in his past is like living it all over again. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Jeno how much of a nightmare it was, how he can still hear her screaming and how pieces of flesh spurted on him when Jung finally relieved her and exploded her head. Tears roll silently on his face as he stares at the ground.

Of his arrogance, he’s still atoning, spiralling into a nightmare. When he’d exploded the Velvets’ headquarters, he’d tried to convince himself that the deaths were worth his future freedom, to forget the deafening explosion and the screams, yet, late at night when he was alone, they’d come back to him. Every of his victims would crawl to haunt his insomnias, as well as his nightmares. Only the little voice in his head saying he had no choice but to survive had kept him sane.

“Now I’m still paying the price for that,” he rasps out.

Jeno steps toward him carefully.

“You did what it took to survive.”

“But so much more.”

Jeno doesn’t seem to mind how wet Haechan’s face is when he slowly takes his chin to lift his head.

“Not everyone has the luck of choosing to do good.”

Haechan meets his mirror. A raw and unfiltered pain, roaring in them like a monster that never eases, never sleeps. The shredding of refusing a part of yourself. They’re the same.

He sees Jeno’s hesitations, and he hates himself for that. He wishes Jeno would go, would leave him alone in the dark and never return. He hates that he lied to him. He wishes that he’d take the bullet he couldn’t fire.

Whirls of emotions unfurl in him. Jeno shouldn’t have listened to his story. He shouldn’t trust him in the slightest. It takes all of Haechan’s crumbling will to push him away. To recoil. But if Haechan can’t offer him goodness, he’ll give him the opportunity to find someone better. Even if it breaks into a million shards the remainder of a heart he recently rediscovered.

But he also sees that Jeno doesn’t back off, and maybe his hand slides to cup Haechan’s jaw. 

After his first kill, there was no one to soothe his cries. No one to take care of his bruises. No one to calm him after his nightmares. No one to protect him from the burns. No one to applaud his illusions. No one to calm his quakes after Jung blew up the headquarters. No one to get him out of the Dragon’s claws.

But now, Jeno’s here.

He hates himself for that, but maybe he gets closer.

Maybe he stares at Jeno’s lips, and maybe Jeno does the same.

They’re only a breath apart when Yuta bursts into the room, grinning, fully aware, and amused he’s interrupted them. Apparently, he’s back.

“Gentlemen, if you’d hurry up.” He smiles. “We have a dragon to blow up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :]
> 
> So? :D 
> 
> Doyoung and Taeyong right? Hehehe.
> 
> I'm really really curious to hear all of your reactions and thoughts, don't hesitate to share. I love this part, I really do. Also everything was planned before Kick It was released so I'm telling I LOST MY SHIT when the MV dropped like??? Taeyong "Enter the Dragon"?? Jaehyun "Droppin a bomb on ma enemies" ?? HELLO???
> 
> ALSO YUTA!!!!! I know he hasn't appeared much yet, but he's one of my favorite characters I just thinks he's funny and sexy and I can't wait to share more of him.
> 
> Also the nohyuck >.>
> 
> Anyway don't be shy with kuddos and comments and you can yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kitty_track) or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/kitty_track)!


	5. Part V — The Angel of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And hi for the last time :')
> 
> Damn we here!! I'm not going to say much here, let's just discover how the story unfolds and wraps up.
> 
> TW // Heights

Jeno takes a last look at the void before he flies.

Tied between two buildings by a system of magnets turned on and off with electricity by Taeyong in the IT room, Jeno makes his way through the city. The thick rope shines silver in the night. Needlessly, Jeno doesn’t have to see the wire to glide on it, fast and light like a shadow. Connected to the rope by an instinctive bound, his heart beats in harmony with each step he takes. Cold air fills his lungs. The night guides him.

He doesn’t have any safety harness or net to catch him if he falls, yet he’s not scared. The _Ombre_ purring in his chest, he weirdly feels at home. He lets it help him, not giving it the lead, or freeing it of its cage, but carefully listening to its whispers, allowing it to offer guidance. Sparkles light him up. He smiles. He doesn’t care that he’s wearing a bag of explosives on his back or that he’s surrounded by traitors, for he finally tastes true freedom.

In no time, he’s already on the other roof. Locking eyes with Haechan, he encourages him with a simple nod. Even if the magician is linked to the wire with a safety, Jeno can understand how terrifying it is to hang in the air, trying to find balance between the sky and the void, life and death. Himself, he’s scared for Haechan.

This is the only way, though. Upon checking the cameras outside the buildings, they had noticed the Dragonnards hidden in the corners of the streets. Jung was nowhere to be found on the screens, probably waiting for them somewhere else, withdrawn deeper in the dark. He must have prepared a deadly mechanism, only using his Dragonnards to keep them in the apartment the time he needs. And even if, thanks to Doyoung’s heavy security system, they can’t access the building, even less go up to the apartment, they still had them trapped. Jeno had reminded them of the obvious solution. “Don't we have a whole-ass network of wires for this kind of special occasion?” he’d said.

Haechan walks, hesitant and shaky, coming close to falling several times. Jeno doesn’t have to fight some reliant bitterness to allow himself to speak up.

“Squeeze your core. Fix your eyes on a determined point.”

Haechan’s glance flies to fasten on him. He feels a connection forming between them as their eyes lock together, unwavering. His heart hitches.

“Control your breathing.”

He grows more focused and confident, yet Jeno doesn’t miss the way his left leg is a little loose compared to the right one, how his arms aren’t stretched wide enough to balance him correctly. And, this time, when his body tilts on the left, he doesn’t have the time to compensate for the weight shift.

Jeno almost jumps on the wire when Haechan falls.

A heart-tearing gasp, a violent jolt, and a loud hiccup. Haechan is saved by the harness.

Jeno’s urgent advice leads him back on track. As he’s being told, Haechan, swinging back and forth, gathers momentum. He throws his chest upward, and grasps the wire with his two gloved hands. Contracting his abdomen, he lifts his legs and sends them up and folds his knees around the wire. He ties his ankles together, securing his position. Now hanging like a sloth, he’s able to move forward. While shaking violently, he still pulls himself to go on.

He throws his hand to cling to the edge of the roof when he gets there. Then, the second hand. He frees his legs from the wire, letting them hang in the void. Without asking for help, he lifts himself. Yet, Jeno still offers his hand. He takes it. Jeno pulls him on the roof effortlessly. Haechan falls next to him, quick to let go of Jeno to unlock his harness from the wire.

Doyoung, him, doesn’t need anyone’s support or advice. Straight like an arrow, his steps are fast and precise. He stares at the horizon, and gets to the roof in no time.

Their path goes like that. They work in an almost complete silence, Doyoung informing Taeyong when they’re all safe on the other roof through his headset. When he’s done, the former wire unfastens from the magnet and rolls up to the bobine incredibly fast, and the new one gets pulled to the horizon with an impressive force. The only other sounds disturbing the night are the clinkings of Doyoung's and Haechan’s harnesses locking and unlocking with the ropes. They look like a group of assassins together, hands gloved in black leather, each connected with a headset, and their figures shining with the silver blades under the moonlight. Jeno keeps a protective gaze on Haechan, and he catches Doyoung’s worried one on them on a couple of occasions. The wires tense and disappear with Taeyong’s rhythm —until they get to a crosspath.

Jeno figures Doyoung’s been dreading this moment. He has to leave him and Haechan alone to go to the warehouse near the docks, when they’ll have to cross the bridge. The second warehouse is located outside the walls, in the industrial part, while the last one is deep into the Dragon’s territory. Their separation makes sense, and the plan won’t work in a different way. Their network of wire is indeed largely spread, but doesn’t cover all of Brume, and all of them will have to walk a portion of the streets on foot at some point. Doyoung’s invisibility is limited to himself, while Haechan can hide several people with his illusions. Jeno has the most to do walking, so Haechan goes with him for a part of it, until he’ll have to go south when Jeno will continue north-west. In this way, Jeno can also keep an eye on Haechan the longest.

Doyoung grants Jeno his last words before he gets down the emergency stairs.

“Come back to us.”

Not wishing Jeno good luck, not bidding him goodbye, he leaves him a whisper, dry, and cold, but resounding with help. Even if he didn’t ask, his words are underlined with something he’s never offered Jeno before, not truly —vulnerability. This time Doyoung is not the all-knowing entity he’s always been, but the power lays on Jeno’s side. He’s the one with a choice. He feels Doyoung looking at his back as he turns around, waiting until he’s gone to leave himself. Somehow, it gives Jeno everything to know he’ll return to them.

He dives back into the void, trusting.

///

It doesn’t take much time until Doyoung gets to the docks. He recognizes the building Haechan had described earlier, betting on the young man’s guilt and fear that he told the truth. He unlocks his harness and turns invisible to begin his descent. The smell of the sea mixed with the gasoline of the cars reminisces of when he first stepped out of the train bringing him back to Brume. In fact, the whole operation reminds him of his youth, when he used to be only a boy striding the city, the head full of complicated plans, and the heart burning with the yearn for revenge.

Preparing for the incoming fight is easy as it's natural. Feeling the blades on his chest, the guns on his side, and the bomb on his back. Adrenalin and anticipation simmer in him, having replaced a long time ago any fear or apprehension. Doyoung opens the backdoor of the warehouse and slips into the building silently. His breath is hot against the cold air. The senses acute, he watches all around him, waiting for the gasp of an _Oeil_ seeing through his power. It doesn’t come, and his eyes get accustomed with the ambient dimness of the place.

The first floor is empty. No Tenebres. No Dragonnards. The pallets there only keeping regular merchandise. He climbs the stairs, knowing full well that in the office section, he’ll find what he’s looking for. He already peeks of the light coming from the bottom of the door. The banter of three Dragonnards goes through the walls to faintly reach Doyoung’s ears. He approaches, looking for any information he’s not already aware of. 

“No, literally, I have one day off! One! And here I am, freezing my ass in a warehouse with buttholes!”

“So I’m a butthole?” A softer voice asks.

“No, not you sweetie, never you.”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” A woman snaps. “We’re clearly here for a while, if it is not for all night, so you better suck it up and pass me the spoon without bitching about it.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes and ignores the rest of the conversation. He’ll take care of them later. First, he has to find the drugs and set up the bomb.

After exploring the corridors, he finally finds the biggest room, plunged in the dark, where all the pallets of Tenebres pile up. Doyoung walks around them to have a complete picture, and chooses the best place to put the explosives. He squats, slides the bomb out of his bag, ties it up with a pallet and turns it on. No sound, no blemish red light, but silence, discretion, and efficiency. He doesn’t need a signal anyway, he’s got some experience with these bombs.

He stands up and goes to check all the other rooms one last time, just to be sure Jung didn’t hide some anywhere else. He’s in an office when he hears a door opening, a hearty laugh, and footsteps in the corridor. The Dragonnard who was complaining has apparently decided to take a quick round. Doyoung waits for him. The man gets closer and closer, and finally gets to the office, turning the light on mechanically.

_Here it comes_ , Doyoung thinks to himself as he sees it —the astounded expression of an _Oeil_ who can discern him. He points an accusatory finger at Doyoung, shocked. He’s trembling, his eyes are red, and there’s a black trace on his nostril. It’s not very professional to take drugs when you’re working.

Doyoung won’t use a gun. He has to keep things quiet. He won’t use his blades either. Blood is a pain in the ass to clean up, and the Dragonnards don’t deserve his efforts —or his suit. 

The man finally reacts properly, yelling to warn the others and diving his hand into his holster, reaching for his gun. Before he can grab it, Doyoung takes one long stride —and leaps. His left foot lands on the desk that was separating them. In the same movement, he throws his right foot to swing. 

It kicks the _Oeil_ right in the jaw.

His head whips back as his body flies in the air for a second, before it rumbles to the ground, back crashing with the wall of the corridor. He’s knocked out. Or dead. Not that Doyoung cares.

He jumps to the corridor, where the two other Dragonnards finally come, one woman and one man. He faces their confusion and panic as they’re met with the void, their guns left aimless. He doesn’t waste time and seizes the woman's arm.

She jerks and yelps. “Show yourself, fucker!” She sounded more confident when she was grumbling at the other for not passing the spoon.

But he holds on and sneaks between them with force, setting her arm in a weird angle. The Dragonnards are pointing guns at each other. She throws her hand to hit where Doyoung’s hand is clasped, but he intercepts it with his free hand. And, using the momentum and the woman’s own strength, he projects her against the man, smashing their heads together. The shock is violent enough that the man falls very easy, but the woman only tumbles. She gets back on her foot and tries to point her gun at Doyoung. 

He sends a kick sweeping up her wrist, breaking it in the way. She chokes on an exclamation of pain. The gun flies. Then, Doyoung simply sinks his fist into her ribs. The air suddenly leaves her lungs with a loud heavy huff. He punches her on the temple.

She falls on the ground at the same time her gun does.

Doyoung exhales shortly.

He deals the man he didn’t get to fight one kick, just to be sure he’s unconscious.

The adrenalin in his veins feels amazing. He’d lie if he said he doesn't miss beating people up. Training Jeno wasn’t just the same.

When he’s done tying up their limbs together, he doesn’t take more time to contemplate his work. Instead, he reaches for Taeyong.

“Got them.”

“Ok.” Doyoung hears Taeyong’s fingers flying on the keyboard. “Are you still in?” 

“Yes.”

“Are they still alive?”

“Yes.” It’s true, he checked.

“Ok. I’m gonna activate the synchronization. From now, we have two hours to finish the job before the bombs explode.”

“Good. Tell Jeno. He’ll pass it to Haechan too.”

Doyoung is about to hang up when Taeyong interrupts. “Wait! Doyoung.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Where did you put the Dragonnards?” He bites his lips as he hears the _Shapeshifter_ lingering suspicion.

“I didn’t move them from the warehouse.”

“The warehouse that is going to get blown up,” Taeyong sighs. “Well, hide them somewhere in a dumpster. I’m sure Jeno doesn’t want too much collateral damage.”

The call disconnects with that. Doyoung cracks his neck, the three unconscious bodies he has to move before coming back to the apartment mocking him. Damn moral standards.

///

The wind roars up the buildings of Brume, loud and freezing. Perched up on the highest buildings, both Jeno and Haechan walk on the same tensed wire. After Doyoung set up the bomb and Taeyong synced it with theirs, they chose to hurry up and not wait for the other to go. Well, Jeno decided. Haechan was firmly against it, but Jeno gave him no choice. After all, if someone was putting themselves in danger, it was him.

They land on a roof for what seems to be the hundredth time. As Jeno contacts Taeyong through the headset, Haechan lets out a heavy sigh. 

“Hey, can we stop doing that? We only have one left to go anyway.”

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

“But I don’t!” Haechan snarls out of nerves, before softening. “Fuck, I already fell once! I know that you’re incredible but I don't know what I’m doing! It’s too risky, I could kill you simply because I took a wrong step.”

“Haechan.” Jeno moves closer to him, unlocking his harness in a precise gesture. “There could a fucking bear dancing on the wire for all it matters. I was born for this shit. It’s natural for me. I’m not gonna fall. I despised myself for so long simply for what I am, but fuck, if it helps us to get close to eliminating Jung, I’m not going to turn my back on it.”

“But what if it happens? What if I kill you?”

“You won’t.”

“How are you so calm about this?!”

“Because it’s simple when I’m on this wire.” He answers in a low voice. “I don’t have to deal with anything else other than my instincts, and I can forget about other things for an instant.”

Haechan doesn’t add anything. They stare into each other’s eyes, close enough that Jeno feels Haechan’s breath hit his face. It’d barely take a step to hold the magician in his arms. A take he craves to take, even if he won’t. Too many contradictions and paradoxes. Too little time.

Hesitation turmoils Haechan’s eyes and Jeno can’t help the tenderness to bloom in his chest. Haechan doesn’t seem to want to be forgiven, quite the opposite actually, but still tries to redeem himself by helping and protecting Jeno.

Or so it seems.

Jeno’s lost.

“I’ll catch you.” Haechan finally insures fiercely, giving up on contradicting Jeno’s plan.

“You won’t have to. This is our last anyway.”

With this, Jeno moves to the new wire that’s been unfolding. They’re at the limit of the historical center of the city and the walls, the cathedral rises proudly in the sky, with its gorgeous tinted-windows depicting the Seven Gods, Love, Hatred, Life, Death, Chance, Chaos, and Power. They’ll land on the roof of Yuta’s bank, ironically enough.

The building is called the Rubis, mirroring the Emerald on the other side of the river. Both are magnificent, similar in their complicated architecture and overall black colours, and complementary in their respective red and green stones set on their angles. The stones are present enough to shine with the rare sunshines and justify gracefully their names, but not too overbearing that the buildings are still models of elegance. Jeno’s read in the Urbain’s the Nakamotos are planning on building a third one, either called the Sapphire or the Amethyst.

He looks at Haechan locking his harness around the new wire.

“Okay now, let’s go. Get in first and I’ll follow you closely.”

Haechan nods at him before he gets on the rope. Jeno waits until he takes a few steps before joining him. He lets him go first to sync himself on the magician’s rhythm more easily and so the Haechan’s horizon would be free.

They’re doing great, Jeno finds. Haechan’s core is straight and his steps are even. They’ve found a smooth and regular rhythm, perfectly balanced and synchronized. He can hear Haechan’s breath and regulates his own on it, following his steps. They’re almost on the Rubis’ roof.

He allows himself to wander his eyes on the city. They pass the cathedral distractedly, before snapping back to it. There, on one of the tinted-windows he’s seen a thousand times —the man from the coffee-shop. Jeno can’t quite remember his name, and his hair isn't of a bright orange but a deep black, but there’s no mistakes possible, it’s him. But _how_?

Jeno doesn’t have the time to ponder longer on his interrogation.

Because everything goes horribly wrong.

In an instant, all the lights in Brume turn off. The darkness takes over the city faster than death itself. Everything, the street lights, the apartments’ lamps, the shopping signs, is shut down.

It’s surreal.

A dream.

A nightmare.

And, in an impossible instant, the magnet of the wire behind them disconnects.

Time stretches for what seems to be an eternity as the rope relaxes under their feet. Haechan turns to Jeno, pure panic shines in his eyes.

Everything speeds up. Seized by the black void —they fall. Body enraptured in gravity, speed takes Jeno, right before he catches the rope in one hand, guided by his instinct. Haechan’s body passes before his eyes, horribly. Jeno snatches his wrist, in extremis. His jaw grits as the weight takes on his shoulder. Nonetheless protected by the glove, his hand slides on the wire. Jeno grips harder, stopping the movement.

His heart beats erratically and Haechan’s panting under him.

“Are we alive?!” He cries out.

“Barely.” Jeno pains to articulate. His muscles are achingly tensed between the rope, his own weight, Haechan, and gravity. “But don’t worry, I’m gonna get us out of here.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Haechan croaks out, “Let go of me.”

“What?!”

“Let go! You can’t save us both!”

Haechan wriggles his arm to escape from Jeno’s hold. In response, he clings harder to his wrist, digging his fingers into skin unmercifully. It’s a relief he’s not holding his wrist and not his hand, Haechan can’t just let himself fall.

“Fucking try me.”

“I’m serious!” Haechan sobs out. “Let go! You have to live!”

“No?! Get on my back, we don’t have time for your self-destructive guilt!”

Jeno’s eyes finally being used to darkness, he can look over his shoulder.

The sight of Haechan, hanging in the void, tied to life by his sole hand, and the face torn by guilt and fear, throbs his heart so badly he unwillingly clenches his fist stronger —guaranteeing a bruise on Haechan’s wrist.

Something changes in Haechan’s expression. It’s slight, but enough that Jeno understands he agrees.

“On three.” He starts to sway his arm, Haechan quickly picking up the movement. “One… Two… Three!”

Right at the same time, Jeno folds his right arm on his back, allowing Haechan to contract his abdomen and throw his left arm to slide on Jeno’s chest and grip his right shoulder. Jeno lets go of Haechan’s wrist. Theys lide a bit from the wire. Haechan uses his now free hand to grab Jeno’s other shoulder. Tightly, he clenches Jeno’s chest, pressed against his back. Haechan tangles his legs around Jeno’s waist as Jeno takes the rope with his two hands. Without support, Jeno can’t activate the mechanism for the wire to slide back up. He’ll have to climb up manually.

“Are you ok?” Haechan’s voice shaking.

“Mmh.” Jeno’s lips are tightly pressed together. “We’ll be fine.”

He ignores the pain still vivid from Jung’s torture. Yuna had healed his wounds, but Jung’s poison stayed. His muscles are sore, and his wrists and shoulders are burning. Still, in a grunt, he grips the wire with one hand and uses the other to lift himself up, Haechan with him.

————

Haechan feels something shift in Jeno.

A powerful aura emanates out of him. It washes over Haechan and overwhelms in its intoxicating darkness. Jeno feels like a whole different person, yet somehow stays the same. He breathes heavily and his muscles are shaking, yet, slowly, but surely, he brings them closer to the edge. In the dark, Haechan doesn’t see anything, but he understands that Jeno’s allowing the _Ombre_ to take over him and drag them out of the horror.

As soon as they’re close enough, Haechan grabs the edge of the roof to release Jeno from his weight. They both roll on the ground at the same time. In the silence of the night, all Haechan can hear is his throbbing heartbeat and Jeno’s harsh breathing.

“Are. You. Okay?” Haechan asks between rash inhales. 

Clouds briefly unveil the moon at the same moment Haechan turns his head to look at Jeno. The soft silver light strokes his face, red and dripping with sweat, but beautiful. His sparkly eyes flicker to meet Haechan’s ones. Haechan’s heart stops. An angel.

Jeno closes his eyelids and nods slightly, a smile on the lips.

“Thank you,” Haechan whispers. The moon disappears and hides them from the rest of the world, the rest of the night.

///

When Jeno’s recuperated enough, he decides they should come down the building. Haechan would like him to rest longer, but Jeno argues that the clock is ticking. He gives in —Jeno knows best about his own body— but the worry still persists.

They get down the same way they did a few hours earlier, with their bodies pressed together. Chest to chest, Haechan feels their heart pound together. The silence is peaceful, contrasting with the adrenalin pulsating in his veins and the battle of regrets and hope tearing him apart.

Suddenly, the electricity comes back and blinds the city. Like fireflies, street lights sprinkle the ground, and behind Haechan and Jeno, some office lamps turn their figures into shadows. It’s beautiful. Haechan feels Jeno’s eyes on him, so he turns to him. He’s breathtaking. He always is. Ethereal. Haechan would like to kiss him, he’s been wanting to kiss him for a long time now, but he can’t, because he’s just some—

The bullet misses their ribs from a centimeter and cracks the triple-glazed window.

“What the fuck!” Haechan yells instinctively before snuggling closer to Jeno. He looks over his shoulder. In the dark, he can’t distinguish any figures. 

Jeno reacts immediately. He lands his feet on the glass, giving some slack to the wire. He grabs it and pulls it sharply three times. Then, he jumps as the second gunshot darts the sky. Haechan’s heart drops to his feet. Their fall is fast. The bullet hit right where they used to be. He clutches tighter to Jeno.

“There’s two Dragonnards.” Jeno says, out of breath. “Can you cover us?”

While they’re not in a free fall, Jeno still has drastically accelerated their pace, it goes so swiftly Haechan sees all the different windows mesh together in a dark blurry reflection, indistinguishable. He risks a look at the ground, but is only met with the vertiginous darkness.

“I can’t! I can’t see them!”

Brought in a large and quick swing movement by Jeno, they come back to the wall. Jeno pushes again in a loud thud. Once. Twice. Thrice. It goes on. It’s a wonder to Haechan that Jeno’s bones don’t break. The bullets follow their erratic descent.

“Hold on tight,” Jeno says hoarsely.

Before Haechan can understand what he meant, Jeno suddenly detaches his arm from Haechan’s back to grab a long gun out of his utility belt.

“What are you doing?!”

Jeno doesn’t answer. Instead, he loads the gun. He lowers his arm, aiming. The wall comes back to them. Jeno knew that, seeing as he doesn’t even look at it before launching them again.

He shoots.

Haechan has no idea if the bullet hits its aim, his consciousness swallowed whole by fear.

Another launch.

Jeno shoots again.

This time when they’re brought back to the wall, Jeno doesn’t push again, but only bends his legs to absorb the shock and soften their descent. He puts the gun back in the belt on his chest, his arm then automatically coming back to hold Haechan’s back. Even if they’re slowing down, the fall is still terrifyingly fast, although bearable now that the swings are a lot smaller.

When they land on the ground, Heachan lets out a huge sigh of relief. Looking around, he finds the two corpses of the Dragonnards near the bridge. They’d been using the guardrail as a hiding spot, the best and only opening they could have gotten. Jeno got them anyway. One shot for each. If Haechan’s body wasn’t buzzing with fear, he’d find that really hot.

Jeno lets go of the wire, sending it back up by two quick pulls as he breaks away from him. Haechan ignores the void it leaves.

///

Taeyong jumps out of his chair when the lights turn back on, power finally getting back in Brume. Not two seconds later, his phone lights up with Doyoung’s name.

“Is he okay?” Doyoung asks, not bothering to conceal the terror riging in his voice.

“I don’t know.”

Doyoung takes a deep, shaking, breath. “Call me back as soon as you know anything. I’m getting home on foot.” With this, he hangs up.

Taeyong rubs his temples before dialing Jeno’s number, ignoring the apprehension nagging him. With every ringtone, his anxiety increases. The silence in the apartment is heavy, turning Jeno’s lack of answer louder and louder.

At this moment, Taeyong misses Yuta, sent to check on the power stations he owns, where Jung probably disconnected some wires. The Dragonnards watching the entrance don’t know him, he’s just a regular rich businessman panicked about the power cut going to check on his business. Yuna’s still sound asleep and Yuta’s gone with his exuberant comments. Taeyong would kill for a distraction right now. or even for fake and induced relaxation the _Crystallizor_ could have provided. He’d think about how unhealthy Yuta’s coping mechanisms of grief are, but he’s too worried for Jeno. For Haechan too, to a lesser extent.

The power had been gone for six minutes, leaving Taeyong in the dark and powerless, in more than one sense, the strings of Jeno and Haechan’s lives ripped away from his hands. Without electricity, no signal, and without signal, he hadn’t been able to reach any of them.

It’s obvious Jaehyun’s at the origin of the blackout. The bastard must have discovered the network of wires in his territory years ago, well aware that only Doyoung could have pulled off a system so big and clever. 

They’d underestimated him, keeping in mind the image of an arrogant, brainless, selfish and self-centered asshole, and forgetting how seven years of ruling the Dragonnards could have improved his strategy skills. He didn’t want them to stay trapped in the apartment, but to give them reason to use the network —so he could cut it off and kill them. Easy, and efficient. Unlike him, really, Taeyong had expected he’d plan something brutal, slow, and cruel.

Now, he’s probably waiting for Taeyong to get out of his hideout to seek revenge, revelling in the idea of possessing him again. He’s his real target, he knows it. He’s seen it in his eyes earlier, after the surprise and the dread —the fire, promising to take back what’s his. A shiver of disgust runs down his spine. He could throw up.

Jeno can’t be dead.

Yet, it’s been exactly five minutes now that Taeyong’s been blowing both his phone and Haechan’s, without getting any answer. Every ringtone rips his heart a little more, and he can’t stop his brain from spiraling, picturing their bodies smashed on the ground. Taeyong suppresses a retching. The call tone rings one more time. He lowers the phone, expecting to have to dial again.

“Taeyong?” Jeno’s voice startles him.

“Oh my god!” The Shapeshifter squeaks. “You’re alive! Oh my god! You’re alive!”

Jeno chuckles. “Yes, I am.”

“Good.” Taeyong laughs, before taking a huge breath. “Good. Good. You have no idea how happy I am. Are you or Haechan injured? Is he okay?”

Taeyong likes the kid, he reminds him of himself. It’s like going seven years back and looking at his reflection, hurt by bad choices and trapped into Jaehyun’s claws. He recognizes that look, the one Haechan probably conceals with a mask everyday. He understands why he’d sold Jeno to Jaehyun. Even more, he would have been a total idiot if he didn’t. He doesn’t know him yet, but he can tell he’s smart, and he can tell he’s brave. Breaking away from Jaehyun is dangerous. Just because of that, Taeyong trusts him enough to participate in the operation, even more to feel protective of the kid. He doesn't want him to experience freedom just to burn his wings.

Plus, he knows the story he told Jeno checks out. Jeno ran him through the big lines, and he recalled in fact that in the days before Doyoung’s attack on the walls, when he turned into a dragon, Jaehyun told him about this young new Illusionist in town and the rough idea of how to get him.

And, even if Taeyong was still doubtful of Haechan’s intentions, he’s seen how he looks at Jeno. How he held to him so tightly during the car ride. How he lights up every single time when he turns to him. How he watches him from afar, careful and riddled with regrets. 

There’s probably a million of terrible things Haechan’s done, but he took his chance when he could, risking his life to pay up for threatening Jeno’s safety, putting his fate into Taeyong and Doyoung’s hands, and breaking away from his nightmare for Taeyong’s kid.

“Yeah, we’re both fine. Though we had to kill two Dragonnards waiting for us when we went down. They must have been following us since we left.”

Taeyong’s blood boils in his veins. Images of him tearing off Jaehyun’s head flash his mind. He never should have tried attacking Jeno.

“But don’t worry. We’re good. Now, what do we do? What happened? It’s all Jung, right?”

“Okay. Okay. Yes, Jaehyun, or some Dragonnards, must have infiltrated one of Nakamoto’s power stations. Now, you have one hour and seventeen minutes to set the other two bombs. I don’t have any news from Yuta yet, so we’re not going to take the risk of using the wires again. So, you two will be now walking together until the planned crosspath, then, Haechan can simply go on to the industrial district by foot while still hiding himself, but Jeno you will have to steal a car to get to Jaehyun’s territory. Once you’re there just climb on the roofs. Be fast, and stay hidden. We’re carrying on with the plan.”

///

Protected by Haechan’s illusions disguising them as two drunk businessmen, Jeno and the magician walk side by side. They’ll soon be out of the district, almost empty at this late hour, the walls rising in front of them, opened by a small gate only pedestrians can go through, the bigger ones for cars always buzzing with people. 

“I thought you had to see the person to create the illusion for them.” Jeno whispers, his hand on a dagger.

“I’m observant.” Haechan mutters.

It’s not enough to calm down Jeno’s nerves. Any _Oeil_ could see them. Haechan could be lying. It could be all a trap. But Haechan was ready to give up his life to offer Jeno a chance. Trying to fall off Jeno’s hold as he was dangling in the void. Leaving Jung. Lowering the gun.

And Taeyong told him Haechan’s story checked out. There’s a chance the _Shapeshifter_ is lying to him again, hiding some crucial information away from him, but as Doyoung’s let him go easily, Jeno made a choice. He can’t go on, polluting his mind when he should be focusing on the operation. Even if the rug’s been pulled under his feet, turning his world upside down and questioning every of his moral beliefs, he has to go on.

He has to take the leap.

Yet, his mind is still torn apart. He has so many questions he wants to ask and so many things to know. A million thoughts go through his head in one second. He desperately wants to trust Haechan but knows it’d be foolish to. Forgiveness is tempting, but betrayal is raw. The anger, the anger burns in him but so does the desire. How can he know it’s not a lie? Deep down, he feels that Haechan’s too broken to hide the truth, that the Dragonnard is still there, but the boy came back too. 

Yet, how can he trust himself? After his life tumbled in the dark, how can he pull himself to grasp a semblance of judgment? He’d asked to be the judge of Haechan himself, but how can he? Haechan had betrayed him. Haechan had saved him.

He wants to know, not only because he wants the truth, but also because discovering Haechan would feel like unwrapping a treasure, the darkest secrets, the betrayals, the shame, the tears, and the blood. With him, everything turns to gold. And, there’s something about him, something indicible, that talks to the _Ombre_ , cuddling it and making it purr, and Jeno doesn’t mind. In fact, even if he doesn't want to admit it, he yearns for it.

All the tension from the night strains his body.

Taeyong’s words echo in him, bringing light to this new perspective he’s never even glimpsed of. For all these years, he’s been so wrong. Why would Haechan be guilty? If he was trapped by the most terrifying man in the country, and left traumatized by his sister’s brutal murder, why would he be? How could he be anything other than what’s been dictated to him when freedom had been ripped away from him. Why would Taeyong be guilty when he was fighting for his survival? Why would Doyoung be guilty in a world devoid of morals?

Nothing matters anymore.

He hates that he holds to them so desperately, but the truth is, he doesn’t think he’d let go for anything. Doyoung and Taeyong are his family, he loves them too much to walk away. And Haechan…

He wants to believe Haechan so much.

He’d scream at how dumb he feels, how absurb this whole situation is. He’d like to stop everything, bid Haechan goodbye, giving up on him and letting him to his own fate —yet he’d rather die than doing so. He thinks he saw it, the light, and the goodness. When he fell under his charms in a few weeks, when he first talked to him, when they’d laughed together, when they opened up to each other… Jeno’s not ready to give up. And as much he hates himself for believing them, he doesn’t see himself doing anything else. Even if it’s the stupidest choice he’ll ever make.

“How was it?” Haechan suddenly asks, startling him. “Killing the seconds.”

Surprised, he takes the time to think. He didn’t expect him to talk about the gang at all. Wrapped in the coldness of the night, as he dives into his memories, the abysses swallow him, grabbing him by his ankles —Hyuna’s open throat— his legs —the two corpses of the Dragonnards— his wrists —Hui’s suffocation— his arms —Dawn’s ribs cracking— his shoulders —the blood in his mouth— his throat. He drowns. 

“Terrifying.” He chokes out.

“Were you afraid to die?”

He shakes his head in an attempt to disperse the flashes. He looks at Haechan, who while silently waiting for an answer, scans the street looking for potential intruders.

“Not really. I knew I could beat the three of them at the same time, I was more scared I’d lose myself in the process. It was so… intoxicating. The power. It felt like being possessed, as if some sort of a demon was threatening to take control of me at any moment. I guess it’s all an _Ombre_ is about anyway.”

“Scared of what you are.” Not a question. A statement.

Haechan turns to him, and it’s like facing a mirror. The shame, the fear, and the incertitude of what they are, it’s all the same. If Haechan shows himself to be wicked and ruthless, he’s more than that. If Jeno tries so hard to be kind and harmless, he knows Haechan sees more than that. They’re the two sides of one coin. Bad, good. Good, bad. Trapped in a suffocating dichotomy, only they can save each other. 

This realization that’s been floating on his mind without never discovering itself completely, hits him. Jeno flies back to the surface. He breathes in, fresh air filling his lungs. For the effect he has on him, maybe Haechan really is a magician after all.

“I want to kill Jung,” he confesses in a whisper, averting his gaze from Haechan. “Not because of some heroic motive, like I used to, but because I want to take revenge on him. For Taeyong yes, for you, also. But also for myself. I want to hurt him, give all the harm he’s ever done back a thousand times harder. I don’t want to be merciful this time. For the first time in my life, I wanna let go of the _Ombre_ and let it take over, so Jung’s last breath is throbbing as I laugh at him. Even if I lose a part of me.”

“I want to see that. Watch him burn.”

“Will you still have me?”

“Even if the _Ombre_ replaces you, I still wouldn’t be worthy of it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m too wicked for you.”

“You’re not. You were never.” Jeno stops walking, getting Haechan’s attention on him. “And if you think I’m good, it’s only because I had the choice to be, that same choice you never had. Yet it’s not easy. I’m still struggling with the darkness, but you’ve never had the chance to fight.”

“I…” Haechan begins, but never finishes.

“I want to give you this chance. When we’ve killed Jung, you won’t have to be a Dragonnard. You can be with me, if you want. And you will be able to be yourself, the real you.” Jeno pauses, waiting for Haechan to shake his head and move away, eluding him like he’s been doing all night. But this time, he doesn’t. “I want to save you, Haechan, but I can’t if you don’t save yourself first.”

Haechan looks in Jeno’s eyes for something Jeno quite doesn’t know. His face is a diamond shining with a million different lights, too many for Jeno to discern one emotion. Until it stabilizes, unveiling a newfound certainty.

“You know what?” Haechan talks lowly, yet it’s still the strongest thing Jeno’s ever heard. “I’ll try for you. I’ll crawl out of this pit for you. If you want me, I’ll try to be good for you. I want to be there, when you’re lost, and the world’s too ugly for you to look at, and you feel like giving up to the _Ombre_ , I’ll sit with you in the darkness. I’ll take your hand and never leave it hanging it alone. I’ll be your light, because you’re my hope.”

All the pressure is gone. Hui’s suffocations fall silent, Hyuna’s blood vanishes from his mouth, and the frenzy he felt with Dawn disappears. The heavy knot in his throat is only a memory now. Jeno exhales. The ocean that had overwhelmed him, waves crashing and threatening to bring him down, down, down, into the depth of guilt, is gone. Everything is calm. It will be okay.

Haechan takes his hand.

They start walking again, figures harmonious. All of the pain had disappeared for this exact moment, offering them rest until they separate. The only thing left is the tension and apprehension, vibrating in Jeno’s chest as he takes long strides.

A huff of warm air from a 24/7 laundromat suddenly wraps them in a smell of detergent, protecting them for a second from the biting cold.

Fuck it. If Jeno’s entire life had been a blatant lie, if his whole universe had just been shattered, if he’s not good enough to save himself, even less anyone else, if Jung kills him tonight, fuck it.

He might as well be a reckless young adult for once.

In a second, he grasps Haechan, and brings them into the laundromat. The magician hiccups with surprise as Jeno pins him against the wall. The room is only filled with the sound of their heavy breaths and the drums of the only washing machine working. Jeno stares at Haechan, so beautiful, so intoxicating. His gaze strokes his pretty eyes, pretty moles, pretty lips. 

Haechan stares at him too, pupils black like the ashes of a volcano. It’s hot, so hot around them. They’re so close Jeno can sense the warmth of Haechan’s skin, hearing his heart racing in his chest. The night’s been long and not nearly at its end. The adrenaline of the fall still runs in their blood. Haechan gulps in anticipation. Jeno’s palm pressed against the wall, next to Haechan’s head, but the other lays on his side, leaving him the space to go. But he doesn’t. They look at each other, without any words daring to break the tension. 

“Can I kiss you?” Jeno still asks, not higher than a hoarse whisper.

Haechan’s hands find their way on Jeno’s waist in an automatic gesture, and, in the same movements, he nods, his eyelids already partially closed. And it’s all it takes.

Jeno dives into Haechan’s embrace, as he dreamed of so, so many times. It’s all it takes for their lips to crash onto each other, messy, chaotic, but perfect.

They’re desperate to sense one another, yearning to feel the weight of the other’s body against them. Jeno kisses hard, uncaring of any restraint, like he doesn’t have anything left to lose. All he wants is Haechan, and he’s ready to take him as the magician seems ready to give himself entirely and unconditionally.

They kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss, and it’s never going to be enough. Haechan runs his hand through Jeno’s hair as his other one clutches on Jeno’s shoulder, searching, his body weak under Jeno’s hands.

Jeno stops. He doesn’t step away though, his weight leaned against the wall behind Haechan with his arm, and the rest against the magician. 

“You want me, right? You’re not going to leave.”

And it’s the night, and Haechan is terrified Jeno won’t believe him, and leave. And he’s even more scared he’ll trust him —and stay by his side. And they no longer have room for secrets. And all Haechan can do, and all he owes to Jeno, is himself. All of him, with the darkness and the light, and the truth.

“No, I won’t leave.”

Jeno’s expressions soften and he moves to kiss him again. Haechan half-opens his mouth and closes his eyes, but doesn’t get what he’d expected, feeling Jeno’s lips brushing his without touching them.

“Are you still hiding us?” Jeno asks, his questions tickling Haechan’s skin.

“Do you want me to answer, like, right now?” He tilts his head, his eyes suggestively locked on Jeno’s lips.

Jeno smirks, and oh gods, he _smirks,_ that's so hot, and as his only answer he finally kisses Haechan again.

For the many times Haechan had imagined how it’d be to make out with Jeno, he’d never thought it’d be in the laundromat in the middle of the night. No, he’d expected a gentle smile, a whispered question, a soft touch of hands and timid brush of lips. Not to be slammed against a wall, kissed so passionately dizziness lightens his head, lit on fire by Jeno’s hand on his waist, under his shirt. Their tongues slide together. Jeno’s hand’s moves and strokes Haechan’s lower back, sending shivers all around his body. And Haechan, honest to gods —moans. Against his lips, Jeno smiless. Overwhelmed and breathless, Haechan has to part from Jeno.

“Please, never stop,” he pants nonetheless. “Never, ever, stop.”

Jeno doesn’t let him the time to rest, and pecks his moles of his cheek before diving into the crook of his neck, biting it lightly. His guts twist with desire. Jeno fondles his lower back again, teasing. It’s too much. Haechan melts in Jeno, grinding his hips against his, as he tries to muffle his moans. A whine escapes Jeno, raising goosebumps on Haechan’s skin. He grinds harder, happy to get back at him, and Jeno has to slide his hand and hold onto Haechan's waist to stay steady.

“I want you more,” he sighs against Haechan’s ear.

“Come back then. Kiss me, kiss me again.” Haechan begs, his fingers clutching Jeno’s hair. Desperate.

And it’s all it takes.

///

Haechan should hurry up.

Kissing Jeno, nevertheless how amazing it’d been, wasn’t a part of a plan, and he only has forty-six minutes left. Even if he’s already in the industrial district and has the warehouse in sight, he keeps thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.

He shakes his head, disapproving. Most of the Dragonnards are idiots, cocky, and arrogant, he always knew that, but not bothering to close the shutters when they turn on the lights of the room they’re in is a whole other level. Their free figures move around as they probably banter. He’d shoot them like that if he had a gun of a longer range. Or maybe not, he’s not the best shooter, and it’d feel wrong, leaving without a last confrontation.

The illusion around him makes him invisible to the people in his field of vision, once he finds someone, he locks them into his magic and doesn’t need much effort to maintain it. So it’s ridiculously easy to slip into the warehouse. Already knowing the layout of the building, he figures out he should get to the point quickly. He climbs the stairs and finds the room that most likely contains the Tenebres.

Bingo. Flasks filled with black liquid piled up until the ceiling. That ought to be fun to watch explode. Jung keeps the other mixtures you’d need to create the different effects of the drug somewhere else, but since without Tenebres they’re totally harmless, they won’t destroy them. Haechan takes the bomb out of his backpack and sets it carefully.

When he’s done, he leaves the room to check on the others. Nothing. Perfect. 

Then, he faces the closed door. Dragonnards are right behind, their voices confirming his suspicions on their identities born from their figures. He knows them. Jean, Adam, and Marie. Yeah, they’re not the sharpest tools in the shed, but he likes Marie. She’s a forty-year-old coman, fiercer than the burning red of her hair, and kind despite the tragedies accumulating in her past. She lost her son years ago, supposedly killed by a rival gang, but Haechan’s always been sure it was Jung. Adam is an insufferable ass, though. Young, entitled, a little shit without any talent and/or brain cells, only good with his fists —relatively speaking, of course. And, Jean is an _Oeil_ , one of Jung’s four. Haechan has to proceed carefully, taking the gun from his side slowly.

He slams the door open.

Jean, leaning on the counter, jolts up right. “Haechan!”

He fully appears for the two others to see him.

“Jung told us you’d probably come.” Marie tells him.

“He wanted to be sure you’d get his message.” Adam’s only opened his mouth for a few words but Haechan’s already exasperated by the dude. “He was quite disappointed you didn’t show up when he checked in earlier.”

So Jung checked in the warehouses. Jeno must be careful. And fast.

Haechan ignores the worry creeping up. “And that message is?” he asks.

“That he’s ready to forgive you. For some reason, whatever.”

Haechan scoffs. _Forgive him_.

“Kid,” Marie’s face is somehow compassionate despite the numerous scars crossing it. “What even happened? You’re still with us, right?”

Haechan shakes his head lightly. “No, I’m not.”

“Did you join another gang?” She squints her eyes. “You’re better than this.”

Suddenly, Jean points his gun at him. “Did you try to double-cross us?!” Haechan isn’t impressed. Jean is a nervous kind of guy, but also a coward. “I’ve always known you were a rat.”

“Hey!” Marie contests. “Jean! Lower that gun, it’s Haechan we’re talking about.”

“Exactly.” Adam’s seethes. “Jung’s little pet. He doesn’t know his place, always been an arrogant little shit.”

A lump falls in his chest. Jung’s little pet?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jean rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know. He’s been protecting you for years.”

“You could fool around in the streets and play the magician as you wished.” Adam adds with anger.

“You were the one hidding him when he blew up the Velvets.”

“You got the nicest room in the Plawhale.”

“You never had to do the most dangerous jobs. Never put your life in danger.”

“Now you’re just being salty because I’m better at my job than you are.” Haechan contradicts.

Adam fulminates.

“Dawn almost got you in his brothel,” he spits, “but no, Jung stopped him because he wanted you all for himself.”

“Adam!” Marie interrupts. “ And Jean I said lower the gun!”

The tension is thick in the room. Obviously reluctant, Jean obeys Marie, probably out of the respect they all hold for her. The Dragonnards are waiting for Haechan’s reaction, but closed-off, he’s left speechless. Waves of disgust rise in his guts. He can’t believe he escaped forced prostituion just because Jung projected to have him some day —even if it seems so obvious now. He was his Dragonnard. His toy. His puppet. His thing.

He needs to break free. Lowering the gun was the first step, leaving —the second, and now, he has to take the final one.

“Well,” he says softly, “you’d be glad to learn I’m leaving the spot open.”

With that, Haechan shoots Jean’s left knee. The Dragonnard’s forced to bend down by the dead weight his leg’s become. In a snap, Haechan creates five illusions of himself, two running at Adam and Marie, as the last one and the real him throw themselves at Jean. The _Oeil_ is his priority. He raises his arm and with the cross of his gun —hits Jean’s head. One time. Jean stays conscious and throws a punch at him. Haechan takes the pain but doesn’t yield. Instead he lifts his arm again. Two times. Jean’s unconscious.

Before he can see them coming, Adam and Marie are attacking him from behind. He turns around in a snap, blinding them before Marie’s fist can reach him.

Adam’s gun still fires. The bullet pierces through Haechan’s thigh. He’s been too slow with Jean.

He grunts, but his brain doesn’t process the pain, so he doesn’t stop. Snatching Jean’s gun, he launches himself to avoid Adam’s blind bullets, who apparently doesn’t care he could hurt Marie or Jean, if the thought occurred to him at least. Despite his leg trembling, Haechan stands up behind them.

He gives them their sight back —startled, Adam stops shooting— as he loads the two guns and points their canons at them. The clicks are a clear message. Carefully, they turn around to find the bleeding golden boy threatening them.

“Should I shoot?” He asks, his smirk he knows infuriating back on his lips. “Marie, I don’t want to kill you. Adam, though, I’m still pondering. But if you behave nicely, I’ll be merciful.

“You won’t last long, boy,” Adam tries to taunt, but Haechan's deadly smirk widening shuts him up. He’s earned himself a reputation, because, no, Jung didn’t spare him the most dangerous jobs.

“Try me.”

Adam glares at him but doesn’t add anything. How cute.

After long seconds of terrible silence, Marie sighs. “I give up.” She throws her arms in the air as a confession of defeat.

“Good. Marie, take your phone and the other’s one and put them on the table. After, take the rope and the tape.” Haechan orders before showing Jean with his chin. “Then you and Adam will take Jean. We’re leaving.” 

The woman complies wordlessly, but honorably. She defended him, after all, and she’s always been prideful. He still points his gun at her, while still holding the other one at Adam, who obeys too, but unwilling and insolent.

When they’re outside, hidden and far enough from the warehouse so they won’t get hurt by the explosion, Haechan tells Marie to tie up the two men. She does so, starting by the infuriated Adam looking like he’s going to explode. Haechan would laugh if he didn’t feel his body weakening quickly as he’s losing a ton of blood. When the knots look tight enough, Haechan puts a gun back into the holster and ties up Marie with the unpleasant feeling that Adam is going to jump on his back.

Marie is left paralyzed, sat on the sidewalk and back leaning on the wall of a building of the narrow alley. Haechan makes sure everything is tightened enough, their hands, their core, their legs, before he tapes their mouths. Placing his index on his lips, sassy, Haechan winks at them before he disappears into the night.

He collapses as soon as he can, letting his back slide against a wall, and falling onto the ground. Without the adrenaline buzzing, his leg kills him. He bargains for a good five minutes whether he should call Taeyong. He needs to tell him the bomb is set, but his voice will betray his weakness. And then what. A few hours earlier, he would have let himself die, but he can’t now. Hanging onto the image of Jeno, he dials Taeyong, knowing he’ll ask for help.

///

Jung’s territory swarms with Dragonnards. They’re everywhere, on the streets or peering through windows, when Jeno only expected some of them to patrol. Using his _Ombre_ abilities, he glides onto the roofs, barely impressed by the wire incident earlier. This is where he belongs, in the shadows, far hidden from overly curious glances. Throughout the night, it’s been almost too easy to allow the _Ombre_ more and more power, but as he discovered a new sense of pain, a feeling of regret and fear screaming at him to stop everything.

It’s a mix of the euphoria of feeling this newfound power, and the terror of what’s going to happen when he unleashes the monster, that he represses to stay in control. Calm, his heartbeat remains steady and his breathing deep and regular as he climbs and moves forward. From time to time, he has to climb down to the streets and slide near the walls before going up again, the buildings, even though more packed than inside the walls, have their heights way less regular.

His headset rings. Jeno picks up the call.

“All the Dragonnards at the bottom of the building left,” Taeyong informs.

“That explains it.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re everywhere here.” 

“Jung is up to something.”

“I know. Is Doyoung’s bomb still in place?”

“Nothing wrong there.”

“Good. Any other news?”

“Yuta came back from the power station, he found two guardians dead with burn marks on their throats.”

“No big surprise. And is Doyoung home?”

“Yes, he’s fine. Plus, Yuna woke up, she’s feeling way better.”

“Perfect.”

“We’re getting on our way as soon as we get Haechan’s confirmation. He must have reached the industrial zone by now.”

“Okay. Keep me in touch.”

“Of course. Good luck, Jeno.”

“Thank you.”

They hang up, and Jeno’s left alone with his thoughts, his fear, and a sweet taste on his lips.

He finds the small and stocky warehouse where Heachan described it would be: trapped between two taller, steadier buildings. It looks like the construction of the two taller ones was never finished, leaving them bare of any paint, only thin glasses as windows. Jeno stands on the roof of one of them. All the lights are off, and he doesn’t hear anyone inside the warehouse. Maybe the building is soundproof, which he doesn’t see a reason why it would be, maybe he’s not close enough —again, unlikely. In any case, it’s not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

Jeno climbs down the wonky ladder, fearing a crack would give his position away. It doesn’t, and he lands on the roof of the warehouse without a problem. He opens the little outside door, making sure to use a random stick of wood he finds to keep it open. An easy way out should never be ignored.

It’s cold inside. Silent. Dark. It’s not supposed to be. He keeps his ears open, trying to get any sound he can catch, footsteps, a hushed whisper, a breath, a heartbeat —anything. Yet, nothing reaches him but an intense smell of ashes, and the unsettling and unverifiable feeling of being watched.

He explores the three story warehouse through the open central stairway, without the need of using a flashlight. All of the rooms are empty but one, a deserted office that looks like it’d just been left in a hurry. Half-opened shutters. Papers flung on the ground. Plates of food left barely touched and tepid. Flasks of Tenebres, and the associated smaller ones. Jeno recognizes energy, adrenalin and love —the most common. 

He rubs his palm to the handle of his blade, seeking to soothe himself. There’s no trace of the big storage of drugs yet. Saying the warehouse’s a ghost wouldn’t be accurate. Its corpse is still warm, fairly dead, eyes wide open but deserted, yet still twitching with the last remaining of life, as if it could wake up to grasp your wrist at any moment. Not quite someone anymore, but not disappeared completely.

At last, when he gets to the first floor, in the stocking area, he finds the Tenebres. Pallets, and pallets, and pallets of black liquid in tiny glasses hoarded together. Jeno has no idea how much this represents precisely in terms of consumption, but the fact that they underestimated the Dragon is crystal clear. The amount of Tenebres is simply monumental. Jeno slowly turns around the stacks, not quite believing his eyes. It doesn’t seem possible. And to think Jung has two other hideouts —yes, probably smaller, but _still_.

Jeno settles down near the metallic stairway, figuring that the bomb is strong enough to blow it all up. Crouching, Jeno focuses on taking the bomb out of his bag. He sets it up, pressing the buttons in the precise combination Taeyong taught him. It’s not difficult, but something quite untouchable in the atmosphere, tenses him, irritates his nerves. The click is really light, but still hearable, probably only for him. The bomb is ready. If every other part of the plan went smoothly, the three explosives are connected and will blow up in fourteen minutes and thirty-seconds, destroying Jung’s source of power.

Jeno stands up, taking a better look at the small bomb next to the absurdly large amount of Tenebres. he calls Taeyong. The smell of ashes gets even more intoxicating.

“It’s ready,” he says right away as the call connects.

“Just got the notification. We’re on our way. Haechan got injured—”

“How is he? Where is he?”

“...But he’s fine. Yuna healed him just in time. Now head to the headquarters. You did well."

“I did nothing. The warehouse is empty.”

“...The warehouse is _what_ now?”

“Empty.”

Heavy seconds of silence stretches.

“Jeno.” Fear creeps in him as urgency shakes Taeyong’s voice. “You need to leave right now. It’s a trap.”

And as the communication abruptly cuts off, the lights turn on, and a deep, nerve-wracking, laugh strikes against Jeno’s bones.

He stays frozen for a second, horror preventing him from moving, but slowly, inexorably, realization takes over him as he turns his head to look at the stairway, meeting with the reality he’s dreaded. There, pointing a gun at him, in all it’s furious glory, the Dragon stands.

Jeno’s blood freezes as his wrists and shoulders catch on fire.

_How_? _How did he know?_ Neither Doyoung, nor Haechan, encountered any problems setting up the bombs.

Instinctively, his hand flies to the daggers on his chest but is stopped in his movement.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” Jung smiles smugly. “I’d kill you before this blade reached my heart.”

Jeno’s hand stands still on the dagger’s handle, petrified by doubt. Jung is a maniac, ready to do anything, but if he doesn’t pull the trigger right, it’s because he must be ravishing himself in Jeno’s surprise, in the fear painted on his features. Jeno has to get out of here. He has to throw off this dangerous balance and turn it to his advantage. The bomb is ticking.

“How did you know I’d be there?” He still questions.

“Why? Are you afraid a certain little bird told me? Don’t worry, he’s still on your side. For now. You can be sure he’ll crawl back to me, begging for pity as he’ll be wearing your blood. But no, don’t worry, he hasn’t betrayed you. Doyoung’s little predictable plan made me run around the city to discover your amusing set-up. Your mentor may be smart, but too arrogant for his own good. I’ve watched him undermine his opponents before striking countless times. But it’s fun that if you think losing some product will bring me down. So fun, in fact, that I left the bomb set. You’re a fool, Jeno. An idiot with a ridiculously striking hero complex.”

Jung’s insults should hurt Jeno’s pride, but the sole fact that Haechan didn’t betray them showers him with so much relief he can’t get mad at Jung’s pompous speech.

“Look at you. All strong and fierce. Yongie must have taken good care of you. Though I must confess, I’m thrilled to see you enjoy my gifts so much you’re still wearing them.” Eloquently, Jung points the gun at Jeno’s wrists, as if the burning pain wasn’t enough of a reminder.

Jeno grits his teeth.

“Why are you so silent? It’s not as fun if you’re not begging.”

“What are you waiting for?” Jeno figures that he has less than fourteen minutes to buy before the others get here. He should stall some time. “You have a gun and I don’t. Are you afraid? Do you know that an _Ombre_ can slit your throat before you blink?”

A frantic madness darkens Jung’s eyes. His chuckles grate and echo off the warehouse’s cold walls. The smell of ashes strengthens, infiltrating Jeno’s throat and choking him. 

“Oh, sweetie, it’s simple. You burn and I don’t.”

The smell of death.

“You want to reduce my money to ashes? Fine, I’ll do the same with your bones.”

Jung’s trapped him into the warehouse, waiting for the bomb to fire to watch Jeno decimate into the explosion he’ll survive. Jeno decides he doesn’t have the time to let the panic grow, because all he can do, and all he should do, is listen to the Ombre. Jung isn’t that far away and Jeno wasn’t exactly lying when he told him he could kill him before he blinked.

So Jeno jumps.

He launches himself onto Jung.

The bullet fires and bursts into the glass. The drug pours out. Jeno’s body hits Jung’s, brings them to the ground. In a thud, Jung’s head knocks the guardrail before it meets the stairs. Without missing a beat, Jung shoots again. Jeno lets go of his hold on him to avoid the bullet narrowly. Before Jung can pull the trigger another time, Jeno sends his fist to crash on his wrist. It cracks in a loud noise as it hits the stairs, leaving Jung’s hand open and the gun free. Jeno sends the weapon away.

His goal is to escape from the warehouse, then eliminate Jung, alone or with the help of the others and the arsenal they’re bringing. Jung disarmed, Jeno can stand up, barely unbalanced. He runs to climb the stairs.

He gets to the second floor, but his hope doesn’t last long. Quickly recovered, Jung chases him. Jeno hears him swear under his breath.

This time, it’s Jung who throws himself at him. His hands dig in Jeno’s shoulders like claws, burning him. Jeno falls back down, carried away by the pain and Jung’s weight. They both tumble to the stairs, but Jung benefits from his advantage and slides on top of Jeno. He catches Jeno’s throat in a raging madness, pinning him against the metal.

It’s only now, trapped under Jung’s stare, piercing, and dancing with the flames of madness, that Jeno realizes with horror he’s woken up the Dragon. Pushed to the edge all night, first by Taeyong’s appearance, the Doyoung’s threat, Haechan leaving him, and finally Jeno escaping the power cut-off, menacing his products with explosives, he’s entered a state of pure wrath he didn’t encounter in years of power and smugness.

Jeno can’t breathe, strangled but Jung. He chokes, stifles, spits and suffocates, but oxygen never enters his lungs.

Surge of panic. His eyes widen as his throat heats up familiarly, dangerously. His body reacts by itself. Jeno takes a dagger. The blade sinks in Jung’s stomach as Jeno kicks his hips with two feet, sending his opponent flying back, and his back clashing with the guardrail.

Jeno runs, erratic. For the first time in his life, he experiences this visceral fear for his life, his brain blazing with the red sign of danger and imminent death. Blood pumps in his temples. Air scratches his throat. He trips. Jung’s footsteps are loud, fast, and chaotic.

Jeno grabs his own gun, turns around, and shoots. Earlier, he got two men right in the head when he was swinging in a free fall, but now, in the most critical situation he’s ever been —he misses. His hands are shaking. The _Ombre_ roars in him, disapproving, screaming it could do better. Jung is a nightmare. Frightening, and surreal. His eyes are glaring with anger, his white shirt shines with red, and he hasn’t pulled out the blade from his wound, but reaching for Jeno’s life— he _runs_.

Third floor. He can do it. He can get to the roof, at least.

“So what?!” Jung mocks him, the voice deep and raspy, gurgling with blood. “Where’s the _Ombre_ , huh? What are you hiding Jeno? Come on! You’re so fucking disappointing!”

Jeno tries to ignore but the words stab him nevertheless. Lose control. That's what he should do, but he finds himself cornered, nothing more than the scared and vulnerable kid from the orphanage with a power too big for his weak shoulders. He’s so dumb for thinking unleashing the _Ombre_ would be easy. Yet it’s there, begging, struggling with his last defenses.

He kicks the door to the roof open. the cold air bites his skin, and he’d sigh of relief if it wasn’t for Jung’s grating wheezes behind him. Jeno spins in a split second to hurl at Jung one of his daggers —that he avoids like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Jeno speeds up, running for the ladder he used when he first came.

But he’s sent to crash on the ground by a weight falling on his back. Jung clutches his finger on him hard enough to leave bruises. Driven by the run up, they roll together, Jeno frantically convulsing to break free. Jung throws his knee, smashing Jeno’s rib. Struck by the pain, but still in a frenzy, Jeno yells when a blade cuts his arm open. Jung laughs and spits blood on his face. He’d pulled out the dagger from his stomach to tear Jeno open.

“Come on, kid! Come on! Show me what you’re capable of!”

Not without trouble, Jeno forces himself to lift his arm, and catches a large strand of Jung’s hair. Pulling him by the hair, he throws Jung away, detangling their limbs. Now free, he crawls to the ladder.

His hand catches a rung, allowing him to stand up —and climb. Rung after rung. Throbbing pain in his forearm, his wrists, his shoulders, his throat, but he climbs. The ladder shakes as Jung snags it heavily. Jeno’s afraid their two weights are too much for the ladder. He tries to hurry up, but it’s too much for him. He misses a beat, and trips, offering Jung a golden opportunity to grab his ankles —which he seizes immediately.

It burns against the fabric of his pants. Jeno sends panicked kicks, still lifting himself to never stop, not letting Jung the chance to catch up. But, ruthless, Jung draws and draws. Jeno takes a dagger out of his belt and sends it to thrust in Jung’s shoulder. With a loud grunt, and blood dripping, Jung lets go of him.

Looking over his shoulder, Jeno notices at the bottom of the warehouse Haechan, Taeyong, and Doyoung running to the opposite building. Hope bubbles up, and he judges he’s high enough to stay safe from the explosion, and Jung is too close for him to risk staying on this ladder a second longer.

So, he dives into the bare building, smashing through a large window. The glass flies on the ground as he rolls over it. Panting, he tries standing up and keeping his distance from where Jung will emerge too.

At this point, when Jeno staggers into the empty and delavished room, it appears clearly that the last and only thing giving the strength to fight, is the burning wrath raging in his eyes. Thirsty for blood.

“You’re trapped.” His voice is reduced to a guttural groan, coming straight from scorching embers. “I’m going to blow your brains out.”

Both of them are pathetic. Broken, streaked with blood, and stumbling, yet they’re still facing each other, knowing that in the end, only one of them is going to survive this last clash.

This is it. This is Jeno’s final chance. This is when he risks it all, and smashes his last limits, his last qualms. His fingertips buzz with energy and his heart thumps in his ears.

“Maybe I’ll die tonight.” jeno pulls out his last two daggers, his voice vibrating with the intensity of his determination. “But, Jung, you’ll fall with me.”

He takes an unbalanced, shaky step toward Jung, as he does the same.

“Aren’t you afraid?” The Dragon threatens, a dull rumble in the throat, and his hands incandescent.

It fires up. The night that had just passed sets Jeno ablaze. He thinks about the torture, Haechan crying in his arms, Taeyong’s burns. A wildfire of anger consumes him, Jeno allows it. He’s never met another _Ombre_ , so he could have never been prepared for what it meant to embrace his power. But he’s ready.

Something shifts in him.

It’s first slow, and timid, but the second after, it pours in him like a tsunami of power.

His eyes turn black, except for a thin slit of light. His fingers sharpen, and darken, resembling claws, and some sort of aura crowns him, as flames frame the figure of a demon emerging from hell, bringing chaos on its way. Jeno burns. And if the Dragon had haunted Jeno’s nightmares, he becomes his.

He’d thought he’d be lost, but he’s never been more in control. The _Ombre_ doesn’t take over his mind, but sharpens it. It amplifies his senses. Decuples his strength. The gates of his true self open. He’s not perfect, he’s not a saint appearing in a blinding light of generosity, but he’s not the prison of a monster. He is a weapon. The _Ombre_ is a weapon. One he’ll choose to stab the Dragon in the heart with. For Brume, for the weak, and the poor. But also for Haechan, for Taeyong, for himself. For the sake of revenge.

He’s not afraid of falling in the dark, for it’s created him. Child of the night. Faster. Stronger. Deadlier. Energy runs in his veins. The blades pulsate in his fists, right like it did when Jeno murdered Dawn. Yet, this time, he’s not afraid in the slightest, but ecstatic.

The Angel of Death arises, and with it, it brings its promise.

“You should be scared of me.”

To Jeno, it’s a dance. His favorite. A dangerous, deadly dance. One Jung won’t survive.

The Dragon doesn’t have time to react that the _Ombre_ is already on him. It deals him the strongest punch he’s ever received. He collapses to the ground, he’s soon enough pulled up by the _Ombre_ ’s clench on his throat. The two blades he holds in one hand draw two deep red lines in his chest.

Pitiful, Jung groans. The _Ombre_ drops one blade to the floor. Seizing his chance, Jung tries to grasp it’s wrist and explodes it. But to his utter panic, as he misses, he realizes that a shadow can’t be caught.

It’s a monster. Darkness personified, the prophet of Death sent to spread destruction.

By a prodigious kick, the _Ombre_ sends him to smash his spine against the ceiling. Dust crumbles on the floor the same time Jung does, the fall bruising his cheekbone, and stunning him. Some bones must be broken but the pain’s so strong he’s wrapped in numbness. He tries crawling away, but all he does is letting out a sad cry.

The _Ombre_ laughs. It takes the Dragon by the hair, humiliating him gracefully. A wicked, crooked, smile of unsettlingly white and sharp fangs, terrifies him. The _Ombre_ puts the blade to his throat and brings back against its chest to bring him to the window. They face the other building, agitated by movements Jung’s blurry vision can’t discern.

He pants, chest hardly rising with short breaths. The _Ombre_ spares a glance at him, afraid, but still furious. If he could, he’d bite the _Ombre_ ’s head off its body. He struggles to set himself free, but he’s weak, and the _Ombre_ is stronger. Brutally, with its black claws, it holds the dagger to his throat. He’s going to die.

Driven by fear, Jung looks all around him, trying to find a way out, something to counterattack with. His face lights up as smirk appears on his split lips. Confidence fills up his chest. He stares right into the _Ombre_ ’sslits, soulless eyes.

“It takes a monster to kill a monster,” Jung snarls, malice dripping from his tone. Once again, it only takes one good hit, aimed at the right soft spot, already wounded and sore, for the Dragon to devote himself to his adversary. Jeno’s going to hesitate, yielding, making the _Ombre_ fade, chased away by dumb moral standards, and by then, Jung won’t have a bone of mercy left in him.

But that’s not what happens.

The _Ombre_ ’s smile widens, his fangs glow. It cuffs at Jung’s vanity.

Jung could swear he hears a last, mocking, “Boom.”

The _Ombre_ slits his throat.

And, in a terrible huff of scorching hotness, and a devastating thunder — the warehouse explodes.

Walls tremble around them, dust crumbles, blinding puffs of fire flies to overwhelm Jung. And as he takes his last breath, his life pouring out of him the same way his _Soufre_ powers and protection do, the _Ombre_ pushes him into the fire.

There’s one last thing that reaches Jung's consciousness. One last image imprinting onto his retinas as his decaying body descends, swallowed by the flames. Doyoung, setting up a sniper rifle, and Taeyong. Taeyong. Standing nobly, hair white like snow, scars and burns crossing his skin, his face glows with the fire, but his golden eyes shine brighter. A last image as a final tear brims. Taeyong watches Jaehyun die. 

Jung burns.

Jeno looks at the fire destroying the Dragon’s empire and taking the _Soufre_ with its rage, while a dark one consumes him from the inside. He wants more. More blood.

Fast footsteps hit the stairs. When the _Ombre_ , or Jeno, turns around, Haechan stands bright and beautiful in the middle of the flying sparks. Without a single trace of hesitation, Haechan runs to him and takes the shadow in his arms. The _Ombre_ ’s claws close around him. Jeno melts in the embrace.

Haechan raises his head, cups Jeno’s face with his delicate hands, and, not bothered in the slightest by Jeno’s slits for eyes, or his fangs, or the smoking darkness sticks to his skin, joins their lips.

The _Ombre_ leaves from itself. Jeno finds himself back in the middle of the fire and in Haechan’s love.

///

When the sun eventually lights Brume after this night of terror, up on the roof of his building, Jeno holds Haechan’s hand, the certainty that they’ll be okay bloomed in his heart. Taeyong and Doyoung stand by each of them as they watch the day bring a new life. Three panaches of gray smoke rise from the ground, evaporating in the white dawn. They’ll learn on the news that the explosions didn’t kill anyone, thanks to the late hour and the remote locations of the warehouses. One guy, though, was hurt by a tile falling on his foot.

Later, the four of them will get back inside and snuggle on the living-room’s couch. Doyoung will suggest ordering take-out because it's the only thing open 24/7. Taeyong’s going to swear that it’s the first, and last time he does that. It won’t be. They’re going to eat half of the greasy food, too tired for more, before falling asleep together, Haechan in Jeno’s arms, Jeno’s back leaning on Doyoung’s shoulder, and Taeyong spread out between them in his cat shape —which Haechan will secretly find adorable.

Taeyong will wake up first, because he always does. The new addition is going to be Haechan following him second into the kitchen. The _Shapeshifter_ will start off some coffee as he’s going to try to approach the shy and disoriented _Illusionist_. After some small talk, and Taeyong’s dorky jokes, together, they’ll face the realization of Jung’s death. That their common nightmare is finally over. Taeyong will laugh lightly, before taking Haechan by the shoulders, and promising him he’ll be fine. Because he did it himself. And he knows the kid is strong, despite his own wrong beliefs of weakness.

Then, Doyoung will join them into the room. There’ll be an awkward moment of silence before he’ll walk up to Taeyong and open his arms to him. They’re going to hug tightly, sharing short whispers, before they’ll pull away, their eyes shining with tears. Doyoung will make his tea with two sugars and a dash of milk —instead of the coffee black like his soul Haechan will have expected— and pour another one with no milk; but an extra sugarcube, for Jeno. Haechan won’t dare to address him, but once the man warms up to him after a few months, he’ll be showered with an endless amount of jokes and teasing.

Even if it’s still going to be a lot of work, as Jeno, surrounded by his family, watches the sun bathing the city in its warmth, he knows everything will be okay.

///

It took Yuta a long time before coming here, too long. Sure, he has plenty of reasons why he didn’t come earlier. He runs the biggest company in the country, maybe in the world, probably in the world. He had many business meetings, and dinners. Even in his rare free time, he had to take care of professional matters. But it’d be lying to say he hadn’t been avoiding crossing this gateway.

It doesn’t happen to him a lot, if not ever, but Yuta feels a little ridiculous in his clothes. His all-black attirail appears now to have been an obvious, and pathetic, excuse, now that he’s here. He brought flowers too, white windflies, he doesn’t know if it’s the man’s he’s visiting favorites, but he thinks he’d find them pretty. Yuta realizes bitterly that he doesn’t know what flowers are his favorites. He should have asked.

The sun shines, no mist blurries the streets of Brume, and it almost doesn’t stink of the docks. It’s a beautiful day, and Yuta’s at least a little happy he chose this one to visit Taeil’s grave for the first time.

Thirty-three. Taeil died at thirty-three. Maybe if Yuta had known it'd be so early, he wouldn’t have left him. Enjoying the little time he could have had with him.

“Hi, there,” he greets once he finds the white marble tombstone. It’s kind of beautiful. Very solemn. “Got you flowers. Hope you like them.” He lays them on the grave. “I guess you had plenty of them before. You got the precinct’s budget, the donation, and all, that’s good. Sorry, I didn’t come to the funeral.”

He chuckles to himself.

“Almost asked you how you were doing. Obviously, you’ve been better.”

Sighing, he sits next to the grave.

“Anyway, do you mind if I smoke?” Yuta takes a cigarette and lights it up casually. “Of course you do. Bad breath and all.” He takes a big draw. “Well, that’s a shame you’re not here to complain and make me stop. You had the gist for that.” The smoke slowly comes out as he speaks, easily. Nothing like what it feels like to speak with Taeil’s ghost of memories. “Don’t you think it’s funny, well, at least ironic, how you used to say,” Yuta clears his throat to take this high-pitched voice he used to make specifically to piss off Taeil when imitating him. “My panache lays in the fact that you’ll be found dead on the streets before me.”

After taking another big, long, puff, Yuta returns to his normal voice, just a little more quivering than usual. “Well, for once I wish you’d been right… Oh, gods, this wasn’t supposed to be so difficult.”

Yuta allows his eyes to wander around the cemetery. Other than himself, there’s only a family there, but far-off. Good, it’s not really his favorite thing to be seen crying.

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking.” He takes the high-pitched voice again. “Did you really came all the way to my goddamn _grave_ to make stupid remarks?”

He laughs a little, whipping of a tear, Taeil would say that.

“Well, you’d be glad to hear that no, I did not. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got plenty more in store, but I’m also bringing news. Good news. Jeno, Doyoung’s protégé, killed Jaehyun. I know, right? That’s awesome! He also got a boyfriend in the process, a Dragonnard who betrayed Jung to help him. Good for them, good for them. I’ve found a job in the bank for him, as an assistant, you know? So he can earn some money and feel more independent. I’d want that. Well, I'd want my own job, and my freedom, and all. But you already know that. I’m not going to bother with some old sad stories.

“Anyway, we exploded Jung’s stock of Tenebres and apparently the kid cut his throat before throwing him into the fire. How dope? Pretty dope. I would have liked strangling him myself, not gonna lie, for you, you know. What stopped me? I don’t know. I guess it didn’t feel natural to act like a revengeful boyfriend anymore. You would have called me weird. We broke up like what? Seven years ago? You would have been right.

“I missed punching assholes for you though. What? I did it! Okay, it was only one time, but still! Don’t lie, you loved it. 

“Coming back to the subject, in three weeks, they’ve lost half of their customers, not tied to the Rechte and they don’t have any leverage on the politicians anymore, no money, no power. The politicians turned their backs on them and sent the police after them… Yeah, finally.

“I think Jeno’s talking Doyoung into being the mayor of Brume, make sure the work doesn’t stop there, you know. Even the president of Lands. I’m not sure. Taeyong invited me for coffee but Doyoung is still annoyed, so I didn’t get to stay longer than half-an-hour. Yeah, I know, deserved. Anyway, in my opinion, Jeno should learn about politics and economics, this is where the real game is playing, not criminals. I guess he’s getting there, and I’m pretty sure Doyoung will push him into taking a degree, or something. It sounds like his overachiever ass.”

Yuta pauses. He’d grown calmer, using his _Crystallizor_ ’s powers to soothe himself. He draws on the cigarette in silence for some time, feeling the cold biting his face, his lungs filling with smoke, and his throat twisting in an aching knot.

“I wish you were there to see this.” He croaks out, before allowing himself to sob.

Leaving Taeil was probably the biggest mistake of his life. He’d found this person, the one who got him, saw through him and still loved him despite everything —despite how selfish he was, and still is. And he threw it all away.

Crying feels undeserved. He’s unworthy of all the pain he’s feeling, all the restless nights, all the broken vases in his too-big apartment, all the tears, all the missed mornings at work because he couldn’t pull himself to move from his bed that’s been left cold a long time ago, because why would Yuta cry about? It’s been seven years since he broke Taeil’s heart. The righteous, stuck-up, boring —wonderful— Officer, wouldn’t want him to love him anymore.

“I miss you.”

///

Jeno closes his arms on Haechan’s waist to pull the magician against him. A brush of hair tickles his cheeks as Haechan buries his face into his neck, wrapping his own arms around Jeno, and tangling their legs. The thin blanket doesn’t cover them that much now.

A small whisper barely reaches Jeno. “Love, are you awake?”

Haechan has probably raised his head to look at him since he doesn’t feel its weight on his shoulder anymore. He knows what Haechan wants. Coffee. Because Haechan always, always, wants coffee way too early in the morning. Jeno, on the other hand, wants his boyfriend close to him a little longer.

He hums in only response, and pulls him closer —if that’s even possible. His hand moves to Haechan’s back, right under his waist, to fondle it slowly. He knows it to be a weak spot, often finding his fingers to wander there. Satisfaction fills him when Haechan curls against him, goosebumps rising on his skin.

A ray of sunshine kisses his face at the same time Haechan pecks his neck. His stomach flutters, Haechan’s effect on him doesn’t seem to fade. Birds peep joyfully when Jeno kisses Haechan on the forehead. The chirping isn’t real, even if the winter flowed and the spring was rising quietly, it’s still too early for the sun to appear, and for the birds to sing. Haechan is subtly-not-so-subtly trying to wake him up with sweet illusions.

“Five more minutes, sunshine,” Jeno mutters, his eyes refusing to open.

“‘kay.”

Jeno smells Haechan’s hair, a weird habit he loves to do and that Haechan doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t think he could ever get bored of his scent, the fresh odor of flowers recently cut, the wind wakening the city, Haechan smells like hope.

He struggles not to fall asleep again, to stay in the bliss of the moment, because no dream would be sweeter than being snuggled in Haechan’s arms.

The minutes go by, and Haechan shows himself to be more and more impatient. He plays with Jeno’s hair, curling them in his fingers, tips lightly on his ribs where he knows Jeno’s ticklish, making him let out a muffled giggle, gives him a smooch right under his eyes, where his mole is.

Jeno frowns lightly when he hears a heavy rustle outside. It gets closer and closer. Louder and louder. From the noise, he guesses that the bird causing these noises must be huge, bigger than what he had ever seen. It shouldn’t be so loud, definitely not enough for him to worry and open his eyes. Maybe he’s dreaming. Though he can’t prevent himself from placing a protective hand on the back of Haechan’s head.

But the noise grows loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood. Jeno jolts awake with a blaring crash on the roof. The walls shake. Dust falls on the bed. Jeno sits up at the same time as Haechan, his heart beating fast despite himself.

An inhuman howl tears the sky. Not animal either. Jeno waits for the following, carefully listening to every sound.

Suddenly, the left wall is gone.

White stones roll on the ground as a cloud of fine particles fills the room, making Haechan and Jeno cough. Jeno’s glimpsed of something weird, something like a scaled wing smashing through the wall. He reaches for his dagger on the nightstand by reflex.

A huge claw grips the remainder of the roof and a yellow light flashes through the falling dirt. A shadow obscures the bedroom and a sharp, black, scaled head armed with multiple fangs reveals itself.

A dragon. A dragon in Jeno’s bedroom.

It growls, menacing yellow eyes staring at them, hot air emanating from his nostrils and a smell of ashes. The scales on the dragon’s chest redden like embers. It withdraws its long neck, and a fabulous panache of fire flies in the gray sky along with a terrifying roar. A threat.

The dragon brings its attention back to them. And, again, his scales light up, again. After having destroyed the wall, its next target is them.

Jeno wraps his arm around Haechan's shoulder and calmly rests his head on his.

“Sunshine, it’s seven in the morning, you could have just asked if you wanted your coffee.”

Immediately, the dragon, the dust, and the stones on their ground vanish. The wall goes back like nothing happened, with the pictures of Doyoung, Taeyong, and Haechan. The illusion’s gone.

“You always take ages to get up,” Haechan whines, pouting

Jeno chuckles, and turns his head to join their lips. The kiss is soft and gentle, full of love. Haechan hangs onto his neck, getting closer, he climbs on Jeno’s lap. Jeno takes him by his waist to deepen their kiss, as his hand distractedly strokes the lower side of his back, sensing the shivers on Haechan’s spine.

Haechan melts in Jeno’s embrace, his intention to get coffee having seemingly vanished as quickly as his illusions. However, Jeno parts from him to get up. Haechan grabs him by the wrist, trying to pull him back against him. Jeno comes back, only to give him a peck on the forehead.

“I’m gonna make you coffee before another dragon destroys my bedroom.”

After a dramatic sigh, Haechan follows Jeno into the kitchen, with the softest smile on his lips and the tenderest feeling in his heart.

At the same time, a man with sharp eyes and sharper manners knocks at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ........ So? :D
> 
> Many many things happened and,,, oh, am I hinting at a prequel AND a sequel? ;) I sure am. More precisely, the sequel is still being planned but I can already tell you that the story will revolve around the little crew of Jeno, Haechan, Lucas, Jaemin, Hendery, Yangyang, and Mark, they're all very funky and I love them dearly already. And good news! The prequel is outlined and ready to be written out, we're gonna explore there the origins of Doyoung, the whole Jaeyong "relationship", the Yuil "romance" and Triple H shenanigans.
> 
> Anyway, I'm finally done with this big bitch of a fic, I'd like to thank my Nana who's been here since the beginnings, when the doc was called "pew pew" and was supposed to be a 10k one-shot, my Alex who inspired me, supported me and gave life to my writing in so many ways (and corrected my grammar. a lot. and even tho I bitched about it and very thankful for her corrections), and Ayumi who went through this fic so many times and encouraged me and kept up with my bullshit. I love you all, thank you so much.
> 
> And also thank you to the people who read this, kudos-ed and commented. The interactions meant the world to me.
> 
> Love you all.
> 
> (Also I might drop some fun bonuses next week,,, mayhaps.)


End file.
